The Last Crusade
by Brilliant Brunette Beauty
Summary: Indiana Jones is devastated after ex-flame-turned-wife, Marion Ravenwood, dies. Now he's left to take care of their daughter, Charlotte Jones. When Henry Jones Sr. goes missing on his quest for the Holy Grail sixteen years later, Indy is forced to take his now-teenage daughter with him to find his dad. Along the way, a past mystery starts to unravel...
1. Chapter 1

**A/N: My attempts at an Indiana Jones story. I love this series and when this idea popped into my head, I had to take it. Oh, and note: it did not take Indy 10 years to get back to Marion. It only took one. ENJOY!**

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There are many unspoken rules when it come to my 'line of work', if one were to call it that. However, three stand out. These three rules are the ones that could save your life. They also happen to be the three I find it hardest to stick to. Rule one; show no fear. When you encounter Nazis, deadly traps, grave robbers, and morally challenged treasure seekers, you can't afford to have fear hindering your judgement and reactions. I have broken this rule time and time again. My irrational phobia of snakes is too crippling to ignore. The trauma runs too deep, but that's another story for another time. Rule two; keep the few close friends you have close. You'll never know when you need to call a friend to pick your sorry butt up from a failed mission or a bad situation. I make way too many enemies as is. As humans, we tend to seek out revenge if we are wronged, so you have to stay as loyal to your confidants as possible. You betray them, they'll betray you. Okay, in my defense, I didn't think Abner would find out I was having an affair with his daughter. We were secretive! Well, as secretive as two emotionally unstable young people can be. I'll admit, maybe twenty-seven year olds shouldn't date seventeen year olds, but she was blinded by love and well, even though I denied it continuously, I guess I was too. Anyways, rule three; never get too attached. I know this may contradict rule two, but it is different. Things come and go in this business so fast that if you blink you miss it. Indifference is safe, but love is dangerous. Heck, even my relationship with my own father is tenuous at best. Maybe I'll tell ya about that later. Now, I'm not saying give up everything, but you have to be prepared to lose it. That's why I tend to go from woman to woman, never committing to any of them. The same thing with houses; no house is ever a home to me. The only reason I have a stable job as a professor is because I need to have some sort of way of income outside of my usual line of, umm, _thievery_. I don't keep anything I take. They belong in museums, not with reward seekers. Even though all these rules are the difference between life and death sometimes, I always end up breaking them, and it all relates back to one person; Marion Ravenwood.

Yes, Marion Ravenwood. Daughter of widely respected archeologist Abner Ravenwood. Remember him? He was in rule umber 2. Marion was a mere sixteen when I met her, barely on the cusp of adulthood, a kid, but she could have very well been my age with her maturity and the way she carried herself. What can I say? I was an impulsive young 27 year-old who thought he could get away with murder, though I never went that far. The adrenaline rush of jumping into something you know is forbidden... It's a thrill. Why do you think I chose this career? We connected on so many levels. Every conversation we had formed another bond between us. Dead mothers; bond. Frequently absent fathers; bond. Stubbornness; bond. So, as soon as I realized my attraction for this now seventeen year old girl who had become my closest friend, I lunged at the opportunity. But Marion Ravenwood is not like other girls. She's stubborn, fiery, plucky, and most of all, easy to set off. Once, when I jokingly said something unflattering about her, she threw an expensive glass vase at my head. Ah, memories. She wasn't about to just submit to my charm and cocky grins. She needed to be won over. So, I did something that I had never done with any other woman before or since. I fought for her. I did everything I could to prove to her that I wasn't just some punk who was using her. Slowly but surely, we started a more than friends relationship. See, I still don't know how I would define what we were. I had never been so attached to any girl I had been seeing. But, Abner noticed the subtle hints we dropped. The glances across the room, the winks, the way our hands lingered a little too long when handing each other something. He made it clear that he would not allow it. I could be his star student, but not his daughter's lover. Selfishly, I chose my inchoate career over Marion, thinking it was best thing for both of us, a decision I soon came to regret. It was too late, though. Marion remained implacable, no matter how much I begged, not matter how much I pleaded, no matter how many apologies I issued. She could barely look me in the eye when I came back for her. She vowed that if it took her ten, twenty, or fifty years, she would learn how to hate me.

When the Nazis discovered Tanis and, by default, discovered the Ark of the Covenant, I knew I had to get there before they could. I had to steal it before they could. A whole country's fate could have very well depended on it. However, I needed Abner's medallion. It's one of the pieces he collected from Tanis. I remember that day a few years ago, being mystified when he called me into his office to show it off in front of my prying eyes. Of course, I knew that neither him nor Marion would hand it over willingly, so I went ready to put on my most convincing attitude and tread lightly to win them over. To my surprise, Marion was the one to greet me as I walked into the bar he opened up in Nepal. She punched me in the face. Okay, so that part _wasn't_ much of a surprise after what I did to her. It had only been a year since our affair, and those wounds don't heal so quickly. However, her telling me that Abner was dead was a very sad surprise. She promptly threw me out of the bar. I knew that it was only a matter of time until the Nazis came for the medallion just like me. I was right. After a small mishap, one of which that consisted of her almost getting her face scarred by Nazis, she temporarily forgave me when I saved her. At least she _thought_ it was temporary. My old feelings began to resurface inside me. The repressed love that I once had for her never really went away. I was unable to deny that I love her like I was able to do a few years ago. As we went through the treacherous desert in search of the Ark of the Covenant, we slowly restarted our romance, just like it left off that fateful summer. Now, nearly a year later (these missions take a long time), it's just like it was before, except this time, we're both committed to making it work between us. However, by bringing her back into my life, I know I'm putting her in danger again.

So now, running through the bazaar in an effort to spot the clothed faces of the men who kidnapped her, I'm breaking rules 1, 2 and 3 all at once. _Basket, find the basket._ Whoever took her obviously has interest in the ark, too. It would take a professional to know that taking Marion is the best way to get to me. The Nazis are more powerful than I've been giving them credit for. "Indy!" I hear her distant scream. "Marion!" I don't care who hears. Let them. This woman means more to me than I've ever thought possible. If she were to be harmed in any way... _no_, I won't think about it because it won't happen. I can't let it happen. I cut into an alley way where I think I saw them take her into. The long, dusty walls clearly have a pathway at the end of them. A dirty, beat up moving truck is being loaded. With a _basket_. I automatically reach for my trusty gun. I know that if Marion is loaded onto that truck, I might never see her again. When the hatch closes, I fire the first shot. It's a warning shot, doing no harm to them other than warning them that I'm here and I want my girl back. I see what looks like a long, black stick poke out of the window. I'm not stupid. It's a machine gun. As I chase the truck, I make sure to stay to the other side. I almost smirk; this truck is so slow that I could jump on it and climb into the passenger's seat from the window if I wanted to. I go for the next best thing, though. Through the passenger's seat window, I shoot at the driver. Running back in the other direction for cover, I duck behind a few barrels and wait for the car to come to a crash. Marion will probably hound me about the discomfort later, but at least she won't be dead. The car runs head first into the dilapidated brick building in front of it with a loud crash. And explodes. _Explodes_. The flames consume the truck, leaving no inch untouched. I can feel the heat radiate off my skin from all the way over here. "Marion!" I yell. My brain is screaming that she is dead, while my heart is telling me that it can't be true. This isn't happening. This doesn't _count_. "No, no, no, no.." I mumble to myself. Marion is gone. Gone. Just like everyone else, she left. This was no accident. Someone did this. Someone took her from me. She had so much to live for. She wasn't even nineteen yet. Now she's gone, merely dust just like the sand here in Cairo.

Even dragging myself the two blocks back to Sallah's house is a miracle in itself when I'm in this condition. The shock is replaced with numbness. All my emotions are gone. I feel absolutely nothing. I read something once about the seven stages of grief. I wonder what stage I'm on now? Sallah, who sits out on the porch playing with one of his nine children, is jovial as always. I want to scream at him. The thought is irrational, but how dare anyone be happy right now when all I feel is pain? Sallah notices me immediately. "Ah, my friend, we were beginning to get worried." I don't even attempt to smile. In turn, his own smile fades. "What's wrong?" Sallah asks. He looks behind me, like he expects someone. "Where's Marion?" he asks. I've fought Nazis, rouge explorers and terrorists, but answering that question is by far the hardest thing I've ever had to do. The words catch in my throat. "She's... she's g-gone.." Sallah is silent. I hate the feeling. It's like no one knows what to say to me, how to comfort me. Instead of waiting for Sallah to say something, I run inside. I don't want my friend to see me cry. His kids are everywhere, unaware of my sadness. They're so young and innocent, I wouldn't expect them to. I quickly shut the door to the guest room where Marion and I were staying. My body slides against the door until I plant myself on the ground. The only thing I want to do right now is be with Marion, but I know I have to stay on this earth. I have responsibilities. For one, the ark is still being hunted down by the Nazis. Who will find it if I'm gone? A cry interrupts my thoughts. At first, I think it must be one of Sallah's children. Wait, isn't the youngest one five years old? This is a baby's cry... I realize where it is coming from as I stand up with a sigh. In my pain over Marion, I forgot about my _other_ responsibility. The crib is on the other side of the room, which I reach slowly. The little baby girl with my eyes and Marion's hair has her nose scrunched up in aggregation, her face light red from crying. _She's so much like Marion... _"Don't cry.." I try weakly as I pick her up. When she senses she's in someone's arms, she stops crying and simply stares up at me, like she's studying me. Usually, I would laugh. Not today. I thought I was clueless about this before, now I have to do it without Marion's guidance. I sit down on the bed holding my beautiful baby. _Our_ baby. Charlotte.

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"Junior!"

I groan to myself when I hear that name. Only one person alive calls me Junior. Dad. You know, the man I haven't seen in twenty-one years? There he is, standing near the gate of the airplane I'm about to board. There's a reason we haven't spoken in so long. I'm fairly positive Germany and Poland have a better relationship than us. Hey, they've only been at war for a year compared to the thirty-seven years we've been fighting constantly. Nonetheless, I plaster a smile on my face to greet him. "Dad, nice to see you," I say through gritted teeth, though it is not entirely a lie. I may want to smack him repeatedly in the face with a baseball bat sometimes, but he's still my dad, even if I wish he wasn't. My loving and attentive mother died of tuberculosis when I was young, so it was always just Dad and I, not that I noticed. He spent days at a time locked in his office, studying the holy grail, much like I do now with other relics. The only difference was that I barely ever saw him. He didn't seem to care when I got in trouble or when I did something to make him proud. It was always his work, not his only child. So, when I was sixteen, I left home. I ran away and joined the war effort. I don't think he's ever forgiven me for that, leaving right when I was becoming interesting to him, just like I haven't forgiven him for being emotionally absent all those years.

When he approaches me, I can see his once brown hair that was just like mine is now a silvery gray. The wrinkles on his face that once were just barely there are now completely visible to anyone. In short, he looks older than I remember him being. "It's nice to see you, too..." He trails off and looks down at the small, smiling bundle in my arms. How did I not realize that he would notice? When he looks me in the eyes again, there's surprise and a small trace of sadness in his eyes. "You're a father?" he asks. I nod, not knowing what to say to him, and knowing what he's going to ask next. "Why didn't you tell me?" He seems not angered, but more hurt. "What was I supposed to say, Dad?" I ask. "'Oh, hey, I know we haven't spoken since I left home, but you have a granddaughter'?" It's like every other time we've talked; hostile and awkward. Dad sighs. "I wasn't a terrible father, Junior. I never told you to do your homework, eat your food, stay out of trouble. I stayed out of your business. I taught you self-reliance." I roll my eyes. I've heard this terribly biased speech before. The day before I left home, I tried to engage in a 'father-son' moment to hold me over until I saw him again. It failed, hence the reason I never tried to contact him. I was done pretending he might care. "The only thing you taught me was that I didn't matter to you as much as some archaic old relic you were never going to find. In fact, I learned it so well that we haven't spoken in over ten years. I never understood your obsession with the grail. Neither did Mom..." I'll admit, that was low of me to bring Mom into this conversation. I say a lot of things in anger towards Dad that I regret and I know I can't take them back. "Your mother understood it perfectly," he snaps. "Now, instead of arguing over something we can never change, will you please explain to me why you have a baby? And who is the mother?" The second question hits me hard. I haven't talked about Marion since it happened. I've found it much easier to ignore than to discuss. "Her mother's name was Marion Ravenwood. Abner's daughter? She's, umm... she dead, Dad." He remains silent, much like Sallah was the day I told him. Finally, he lowers his head. "I'm sorry, son. If you don't mind me asking, what is her name?" "Charlotte," I answer immediately. I sound almost desperate, like this little girl is my last connection to my sanity. Sadly, she is. "Her name is Charlotte."

There's a long silence between us. Oddly enough, it's not awkward at all. Actually, it's strangely comforting. I may be twenty-eight years old, but I still need my dad sometimes. "What am I gonna do, Dad?" I ask him helplessly. He sighs. "There's not much you can do. Nothing will bring her mother back, just like nothing could bring your's back. You have to raise her now." I never thought about that before now; I'm responsible for a human life now. She's _my_ kid. Suddenly, it feels like the earth is spinning wildly around me. I'm a father. I have a daughter. I know this should have set in the moment she was born, but I guess I had yet to realize the reality of the event. "That's why I'm taking her back to the states. The ark is taken care of. I want to raise her in the most normal way I possibly can. I'll need some help here and there, though." I gently hint at the fact that I want Dad in Charlotte's life and, maybe I want him in mine. Sometimes I feel like he wants to make up for lost times, too. I also genuinely want Charlotte to have a grandfather to admire when I'm God knows where and will come back God knows when. Dad seems to pick up on my hint. "Do you want me to come with you? For Charlotte's sake?" I nod. "Yeah. For Charlotte's sake."

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**A/N: Tada! I worked super hard on this. Seriously, I have most of the story written already. PLEASE REVIEW, I'M A REVIEW JUNKIE!**


	2. Chapter 2

**A/N: I know that not a lot of people are probably reading this since the Indiana Jones file isn't visited often (I have no idea why), but I like making it, and that's all that matters.**

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_16 years later..._

"I'm telling you, Char, your dad won't like this." My best and only friend Belinda tells me as we sit outside, waiting for my dad's lecture to end. I shrug. "He'll be glad I wasn't hurt. That boy had it coming". I had just gotten out of a fight with a boy my age who had some so not so polite things about Belinda. Being the hot-head that I am, I challenged him to a fight. Boys are so dense. They believe that girls will fall down dead if you even blow on them. That's what gave me the upper hand. Somewhere, that rude boy is nursing a black eye. I may be small, but I can throw a mean punch. Suddenly, the door flies open and college students shuffle out, most of them girls. Yes, my dad is... _attractive_ for his age. Girls have been taking his class for years. He once told me a story about a girl who wrote 'love you' on her eyelids so he saw it every time she blinked. I was laughing harder than I ever have, but he was blushing harder than he ever has. I watch as the college students file out, paying no attention to the two girls lounging on a bench. When it seems clear, I stride in, Belinda near me. Dad is at his desk as always, sorting through some papers with a concentrated look on his face and his glasses pushed up. His 'professor gear'. Sometimes I wonder if he even needs glasses, or if they're just a clever cover. "Ahem," I clear my throat not-so-discretely. Dad looks up from his paperwork, a grin spreading across his face.

"How's my little Char?" he asks affectionately while pulling me into a hug. I squeeze back, enjoying the feeling of being close to my only parent. I've missed his quirkiness so much while he was gone, searching for a stolen item that started his nearly life-long career. He came home in the dead of night, greeting me when I woke up. When he pulls back, we can see Belinda making herself comfortable at one of the desks like she's part of the family, which she pretty much is. We've been inseparable since age four. Dad smiles at her. "Hey, Belinda. How was your day, guys?" I brace myself before telling him and shoot Belinda a 'don't you dare' look. "Well, our day was pretty eventful." Dad takes more of an interest. "Oh?" Belinda laughs. "Oh, yeah it was." I hush her and turn back to Dad, trying my best to formulate a nice way to tell him in my head. Being the overprotective parent he is, I don't think this will blow over too well. "Belinda and I were walking here by ourselves, like we usually do, when this stupid boy that's in our class came up to us and started to insult her. I told him to back off, so he started to call me some things that I know you wouldn't want me to repeat. Long story short, I ended up beating him up. Any questions?" Lame excuse, Char. Dad frowns at me. The last time this happened, he lectured me about how dangerously stupid I was being and how it better never happen again.

"Char, you could have been seriously hurt. Some of these people aren't just messing around." He says it with such seriousness that I have to remember he has experience in this field. Too much experience. I sigh. "I know, Dad, but I felt like I had to! Besides, according to the teacher, I know how to throw a punch really well." This time, Dad chuckles, unable to hold back his amusement. He ruffles my hair slightly. "You're just like I was at your age. Do you want to come with me to see Mr. Brody?" he asks. I nod happily and turn to Belinda. Before I can say anything, she puts her hands up in the air. "I'm on my way out. See ya Char, Mr. Jones". I throw her a smile before she walks out the door. As soon as she leaves, Dad opens the drawer to his desk and pulls out a gold cross with rubies on each end of it. The cross itself is attached to a gold chain that looks like it's brand new. The Cross of Coronado. "Wow, Dad. It's beautiful," I whisper in awe. He smiles at me. "Isn't it? That's what we'll be giving Mr. Brody when we visit him." Looking down at the valuable necklace that men kill for, I wonder what Dad went through to get it. He never tells me the full extent of what happens on these excursions, but I know that they are all something out of a fantasy. He used to tell me the 'clean' versions of some of his older adventures before I went to bed at night. I fell asleep dreaming of him and Mom running through Cairo in search of the Ark of the Covenant. He told me everything about that one adventure, mostly because I would request it constantly. He told me all about how they searched all over Cairo, how they reconciled after a year apart, got married in a private ceremony at Sallah's house, and had me not that long after. Of course, he left out the part where she was killed when the truck full of explosives carrying her crashed. The stories were better that way, though.

We walk hand in hand to Mr. Brody's after escaping the hoards of his female students that hound him as he walks out of his office everyday. I don't really mind it at all. Dad has only ever attempted two or three relationships since Mom died when I was barely a few months old. He says that she was the love of his life and that no woman could ever compete with her. He doesn't want to make them. Something seems weighing heavily on Dad's mind as we stroll through the park on the way to Mr. Brody's museum. At first, I think my fight upset him. I hate upsetting or disappointing Dad. He's all I have. However, as I feel how he guiltily squeezes my hand, I know it's something different entirely. "Dad? Is something wrong?" He looks up from our hands into my eyes. "Honey..." He trails off momentarily before swallowing. "Does it ever bother you when I.. you know... leave for a while?" I look down at the grass, avoiding his eyes. Truth be told, it does bother me. For one, I worry that he'll be killed someday. Even a cat only has nine lives. And sometimes, I just miss him. I miss greeting him after school, I miss him reading with me, I miss our nightly ritual of a home-cooked dinner together, I miss him telling me he loves me. I miss everything. Even though I want to tell him this, I just shrug. "A little, I guess..." I don't want him to feel like he needs to abandon his career for my stupid emotions. Dad looks down at me sadly and wraps one of his arms around my shoulder. "You know that I love you, right?" he asks. I nod with a smile on my face. That's something I have never doubted.

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"Marcus!" Dad calls as we enter Mr. Brody's office. Mr. Brody looks up from his papers. "Ah, it's good to see you, my boy," he says to Dad. "You too, dear Charlotte." Mr. Brody is like a second grandfather to me, while to Dad, he's the father he never had. Grandfather is perfectly fine to me, but he and Dad were never on the best of terms. I think he likes Mr. Brody better. Dad walks up to him and shakes his hand. "Good to see you too, Marcus. Now, I think we have some things to discus, don't you?" I can see Dad discretely slip the Cross of Coronado out of his bag to show Mr. Brody. A smile slowly spreads across his face. "Very well, my boy. This will go quite nicely with the Spanish collection in my museum. Now, we have another matter to discus. It's about your father." Dad tenses up when Mr. Brody mentions Grandfather. Exhibit A that he doesn't like Grandfather that much. "What about my father?" he asks. Mr. Brody sighs and shakes his head. "I went to visit him and I found his house... ransacked. He's missing."

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"Dad!"

"Henry!"

"Grandfather!"

No response to any of us. "Where the hell is he?" Dad asks himself as we walk through the ransacked house. Mr. Brody shrugs. "I haven't seen him in quite a while." I can hear Dad scoff lightly. "What else is new." I know Dad is bitter over Grandfather's indifference towards him his entire life, but they have their rare moments of compassion towards each other. Emphasis on rare. I think I've seen them hug once, if ever. The living room of Grandfather's home is an absolute wreck; furniture is turned over, papers are scattered along the floor, valuables are broken. Whoever came here was not messing around. Out of the corner of my eye, I notice some pieces of paper sitting on his desk, virtually untouched. Slowly and carefully, I pick it up. It's today's mail. "Dad!" I scream. He and Mr. Brody come running, or rather stumbling, in from Grandfather's study. "What?" I hand him the mail, which he takes cautiously. His eyes seem to pop out when he looks at it. "It's today's mail." Suddenly, his hand goes to his pocket and he pulls out a small package. It's the same mysterious package that he found while we were in his office. "Venice.." he says to himself while ripping it open. Much to our surprise, it's Grandfather's Grail journal; his most prized possession. "Dad loves this thing more than he loves me. Why would he send it to me?" Dad and Brody look perplexed, but the answer comes naturally to me. "It must not be safe for him to keep it."

Dad looks at me in shock. "Good call, Char," he says proudly. I smile, happy that I did something to earn Dad's praise. "Now, why would the journal be unsafe with him?" Mr. Brody asks. "Who would want Henry's work?" Grandfather's work all revolves around the Grail, so why would it be valuable to anyone but him? Dad snaps his fingers together, showing us that he has an idea. "Marcus, what have you learned from Dad is the Grail's power?" Mr. Brody seems to think for a minute, but I, having listened to Grandfather's rants about the Grail, answer immediately, "It gives whoever drinks from it immortality." Dad laughs. "Someone's full of answers today. But correct, it gives immortality. Whoever is going after my father's journal must need or want immortality badly if they are willing to go to such great lengths in order achieve it. Who do we know that would do this?" Almost instantly after he says this, Mr. Brody and Dad look at each other presciently. As if on cue, they say the exact same thing; "Nazis." Unexpectedly, Dad slams his fist into the nightstand, making me jump at his mercurial change in action. "When will those damn traitors to mankind leave my family alone?!" he asks no one in particular. Dad has a bit of a history with the Nazis. I think he blames them for Mom's death. "Calm down, lad," Mr. Brody says. Dad exhales and shoves the journal in his pocket. "I'm getting two tickets to Venice, Marcus," he announces, completely ignoring me. "No way! You're getting three," I demand. He simply looks at me and shakes his head. "No way, no how. You could get hurt." He starts to walk away towards the door, but I grab his brown 'day-job' jacket. "Dad, I'm sixteen. You can't keep me here forever!" He looks at me firmly, his eyes burning a hole into mine. "But I can keep you out of trouble for as long as possible. I get in a lot of bad situations when I do what I do, and now we're dealing with Nazis, Char. They wouldn't think twice about killing you. You're not going." I look at Mr. Brody, silently demanding privacy. Without another word, he walks out of the house, allowing Dad and I to talk.

I put my hands on my hips, being just as defiant as usual. "You're _not_ going to look for Grandfather without me. You two are my only family, and I can't sit here and do nothing while you guys are getting attacked!" Dad puts his hands on my shoulders tightly and sternly. "Charlotte Desmona Jones, you are NOT going, and that is final!" I feel like I could scream at him for saying that, but instead, I breathe in deeply and exhale, trying to think of how I can explain to him how much I worry about him. If he thinks I can take this life anymore, he's crazy. "Dad," I start. "You know I worry about you. I worry about you a lot. What if, one of these days, you can't find your way out of a bad situation? Do you know what it's like when you're gone? When I sit up at night wondering when you'll come home, and whether or not it's in a coffin? Maybe if you're coming home at all? It's a terrible feeling. We lost Mom such a long time ago that all I remember is you and I. You know I can't stay here worrying when you're gone on your most dangerous mission yet. Please, don't leave me here, Dad. I promise I'll stay out of your way when you need me to. Just please take me." My plea is heartfelt and true. He can sense this, because the next thing I know, I'm wrapped up in a hug, his hand on the back of my head while the other rests on my back.

"I'm sorry, Char..." he mumbles into my hair. "It's alright," I murmur back to him. I can feel him shake his head. "No, it isn't. I don't want to put you through that as much as I do. I don't want to become my dad. Yes, you're getting older, and I think you can handle it. You can come along, but you have to do what I say when I say it. Deal?" I squeeze Dad excitedly. I'm actually going with him this time! "Yes, yes, a thousand times yes!" I exclaim. Now that that's over with, I'm determined that we will be successful in finding Grandfather.

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**A/N: Ahhhh, isn't Indy an amazing Dad? :) I love him! I'll have another chapter up tomorrow or the next day.**


	3. Chapter 3

**A/N: The lack of views and reviews is not making me give up! Please, leave a review telling me if this is worth continuing. Also, if you do review, I'll have faith restored that the Indy fan base is not dying.**

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I've only been in Venice for a short time, but I already dislike it. The city of love... ha! Dad is using it as an excuse to get to know the pretty blonde, Elsa, better. When one of your parents shows any sort of affection to someone other than your other parent, it hurts, especially when Mom would have been the one at his side right now had it not been for the 'accident'. I don't think he knows how it feels for me to see that since Grandfather never took an interest in anything besides the grail since his wife died. Elsa also just rubs me the wrong way. She just has that aura that makes her seem like she's not trustworthy, if that makes any sense. Her sly ways give me cause for concern. I much prefer Cairo, the city of the living. Ironic that Mom died in the city of the living, isn't it? Maybe that's why Dad tries to steer clear of it.

Elsa leads us into the rather sketchy library, where Grandfather disappeared, leaving behind one vital clue; the Roman numerals written down on a piece of paper. I have no idea what they expect to find here. No one tells me anything. As we look around the library, I notice how truly beautiful it is. The structure is solid and sound with nice hardwood floors. The columns are truly a sight to behold, pure white and pristinely clean. Last but not least, the stained glass windows are absolutely beautiful and a wonder. The painted scene on them tells me this was a church building before it was a library. However, they look eerily familiar... "Char? What are you staring at?" Dad's voice breaks me out of my trance. "Um, nothing, just the windows." He follows me to them, staring as closely as I. "What about them?" he asks. I shrug. "They look pretty, I guess." I start to walk away from the distracting windows, but Dad stays planted in his spot. "Dad?" He doesn't react. His eyes remain glued on the windows. Keeping his finger pointed at it, he turns back to look at me. "Have you seen this before?" Dad's question seems odd, considering I've never been to Venice, or anywhere outside the U.S. and Cairo for that matter. But I guess I wasn't the only one who thought I had seen them before. "I think I have." Dad takes the journal out of his pocket, flipping through the pages until he finds whatever he's looking for. The answer is obvious. "It's in the journal, isn't it?" I ask, though it's more of a statement than a question.

Dad nods. "I'm starting to think you're less like me and more like Sherlock Holmes. But yes, it's in the journal. The stained glass windows, the Roman numerals... wait a second." When he points to the Roman numeral on the window and then back to the column, I understand. He points to another matching pair. We're missing the 'X', though. Dad bolts from the windows to the stairs, which he climbs quickly and purposefully. Once at the top, he holds the book outwards towards the ground, his eyes switching from the journal to the floor. Suddenly, he points to the floor. As I step back and look at it, I realize that it's the same as one of the Roman numerals on the piece of paper; X. "X marks the spot," Dad says. I laugh, remembering him telling me repeatedly that 'x' never, _ever_ marks the spot. He seems to be switching sides a lot lately. "Why is that important to us?" I ask, confused by the whole situation. "It's the tomb of the knight from the first crusade," Dad responds. I suck in my breath; that's a huge deal. No, it's a giant deal. God, I'm spending way too much time with Grandfather, aren't I? But this is a big break in the case.

"Marcus," Dad says, using his 'take-charge' voice, "Help me pry this floor open." Unbeknownst to him, I get on the other end of the floor to help. I look over at Elsa, who is standing there with a confused look on her face. I still think Dad is too good for her. He needs a girl who can aid him on his missions and handle his bouts of insanity when he's on an adventure. This girl is not that girl. When I feel Dad and Mr. Brody lifting, I do the same, determined to help out whether Dad likes it or not. It's heavier than I thought it would be, but I'm strong for a girl of a thin, 5"2 frame. The floor begins to slip over to the right near Dad and Marcus, revealing a moderate sized, black hole at the bottom. There's a dim light near the left of the hole. Knowing these things from Dad, I assume it must be a tunnel. The tomb must lie somewhere around the light. I take my now red hands from the floor boards and look over at Dad. He's staring at Elsa, much to my dismay. Why does she have to be so... so... _pretty_? "I need to go down there, but not alone. Elsa?" I have to contain my groan. She smiles at him, revealing her perfect (no surprise) teeth. "Of course, Indy." Oh, so it's _Indy_ now? "Char, stay here with Mr. Brody. I'll be back soon, sweetheart." I watch as he and Elsa drop into the hole in the ground, leaving me behind with Mr. Brody.

* * *

"How can they still be down there?" I complain. Dad and Elsa have been exploring the tomb for what feels like to be an hour, but it's probably less. Every inch of my body is screaming at me to just dive right into the hole and explore the no-doubt dangerous tunnel. It's in my blood, I can't help it. Not matter how much Dad tries to repress these urges, I'm a Jones, and I'm meant to explore. "Mr. Brody?" I ask, not even looking away from the hole. I wait for a response, but nothing comes. Is he just as mystified as I am? The cold touch of someone's hand on my face makes me look up. Just in time to see the eyes of someone I do not know staring back at me. Automatically, I jump. I open my mouth to scream, but a hand covers my mouth, silencing me. "Be quiet," a cold voice whispers into my ear. I've never been so terrified in my life. A realization comes into my head; I'm being kidnapped. I'm being _kidnapped_. Over my dead body. I start to squirm around as much as I can. I thrash around in the man's grasp, but he starts to drag me in the other direction. The adrenaline is pumping through my veins and my vision is blurred, spurring me on. Almost against my will, my arm raises and I slam my elbow into the man's stomach. He lets go of me. "Ow! You little.." As soon as I hear him say that, I jump into the dark hole to escape, not caring what might await me. I'm running on pure adrenaline now.

I'm bolting through the tomb. As I come to each 'trap', I realize they have already been triggered and dealt with, letting me pass through quickly. "DAD!" I scream loudly. My voice is urgent, even scared. I can't even see what I pass. All I know is that I must be getting closer to Dad. I don't stop when I see rats, bugs, and dead bodies. Nothing can make me calm down. All I know is that I was put in danger, so Dad could be too. I have to warn him. I trudge through murky water with the same speed. When I collide with a warm, solid body, I stop. "Charlotte! What are you doing here?" I look up at Dad's confused and slightly angry face. "Dad!" I scream, throwing my arms around him. He seems caught off guard, but he puts his hand around my waist. I notice that he's wet. "What's going on?" he asks. "They came here! They tried to take me! They're coming, Dad, you have to run!" I barely even register what's coming out of my own mouth. I swear, his eyes grow a few sizes larger when I tell him what happened to me. "The sewers!" Elsa exclaims. I hate the fact that she's right. We do have to go through the sewers. "Let's get the heck out of here," Dad whispers. I nod. We all start running towards the exit of the tunnel, which leads to the sewers, our only escape. "Where did the little rat go?" I hear behind me. Dad tenses next to me, like he wishes he could punch the guy's lights out. I crawl into the sewer hole skillfully, making sure my body is crouched enough as to not hit my head and make a lot of noise. Considering my size, that should not be a problem. Dad follows after me, his larger size making all the much harder for him. Elsa is just as good as me. It's annoying, and even a little unnerving. How does she know how to do this so well if she's a doctor? _Dad's a doctor_...

When we reach the end of the sewer, we pop our heads up. Much to my amusement, we've managed to find our way into and outdoor restaurant. Well, much to the horror of the diners around us. "Get them!" we hear from the library entrance. Without thought, I hoist myself out of the sewer and bolt towards the docks, Dad and Elsa closely behind. A speedboat is waiting in the water, as if it was placed there just for us. "Hop on!" Dad yells. Without hesitation, I leap onto the back seat of the speedboat. Dad jumps into the middle while Elsa takes the front seat. Yes, the confused blonde is driving. How could this possible go wrong? "Drive!" Dad demands. Elsa throws the boat into gear, which makes a loud noise as it chops through the water. I look back to the dock to see if our enemy has caught up yet. Much to my horror, not only is the man who tried to kidnap me on a speedboat, but others I have not seen are on several speedboats. "Dad, we've got company," I announce. Elsa is barely out of the dock, giving our assailants an advantage. Before I can even blink, two speedboats are right behind us. Two giant, iron ships stand soundly in the water in front of us. They're being pushed together, closing the small gap in the middle. Elsa doesn't make a move to dodge them. "Don't go between them!" Dad screams at Elsa, trying to make her hear over the roaring engines. "Go between them? Are you crazy?!" she screams back at him. "No-" he tries to tell her, but it's too late. Elsa's already started to drive right in the middle of the two boats. "What are you doing?!" I yell at her. She shoots me a glare that says 'shut-up-little-girl', but I ignore it. I may be a sixteen year old, but I'm smarter than she could ever wish to be. "You said go in-between them," Elsa announces to Dad. He does NOT look happy. "I said _don't_ go in-between them!" We manage to escape the tight fit right before it closes on another speed boat. "You could have gotten us killed!" Dad exclaims. "Yeah? Well, I didn't." I whip my head over to the speedboat to our right while they argue. A man is climbing out of his boat and towards our vessel, his eyes possessing an odd, fiendish gleam as they burn a hole in the back of Dad's head. Suddenly, his tan, wet hand flies out of his speedboat onto ours, using it to support himself while he desperately tries to climb onto our boat. Dad is already distracted by another scumbag nearly on top of him. Now it's time for _me_ to take care of business. My clenched fist flies up and hits him across the face, sending his head flying back. Before he has a chance to recover, I stand up slightly, raise my foot and slam it down on his hand. His hand shoots back immediately, just in time for my hand to go flying across his face again. Finally, his limp, but still living body lands in the clear blue ocean with a triumphant splash, setting me at ease; for now.

The chopper of the large boat starts to swallow one of the captor's speedboats. Dad jumps onto it and holds the man up by his jacket. "This is your last chance," he warns. The man laughs hallowly. "No, Dr. Jones, this is your last chance." I have no idea what his words mean, but I'm given no time to process it as the man escapes from Dad's grip. Dad jumps back onto our speedboat, gently pushes Elsa out of the driver's seat and starts to steer it out of the way of the chopper. We head in the direction of land, much to my relief. I can hear and see the man following us, but I push the thought of anything bad happening to the back of my mind.

Our speed-boat hits the concrete wall with a loud thud, skidding to a halt. We all exit the vessel shakily while being careful of our surroundings, afraid of another mysterious attacker surprising us. The attack shook Elsa and I, but Dad seems perfectly put together. This must be in the job description. As I look up, I see Dad pinning the same thin, dark-haired man to the wall. "What's your name and why did you try to kill us?" he asks. "My name is Kazim. The secret of the grail has been safe for years, and our brotherhood is willing to die in order to keep it safe longer." He lowers his shirt, revealing a tattoo of a cross. Dad nods, seemingly accepting the man's cryptic answer. "Ask yourself, why do you seek the cup of Christ? Is it for his glory or yours?" Dad shakes his head. "I don't seek the cup of Christ. I just want to know where my father is." For the first time since I've seen him, the man smiles. Not a very warm or toothy smile, but it's better than getting shot at by him. He stands up, pacing ever so slightly. "Your father is being held at the castle of Brunwald on the border between Austria and Germany. God be with you on your quest." Dad lets go of the man willingly, ushering us away. "Sir," Kazim calls. When I turn around, he's looking straight into my light blue eyes with his dark gray ones, causing me to shiver. "Be careful with your daughter. She's... valuable to them." Almost on instinct, Dad wraps his arm around my shoulder and pulls me into his side. He nods at Kazim. "Thank you." We walk away, ready to go to the hotel for the night to dry off.

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**A/N: How am I updating so quickly, you may ask? Well, I have almost all the story written already. I was just too much of a wimp to post it.**


	4. Chapter 4

**A/N: To whoever gave me my first and only review: THANK YOU! My faith in the Indy fan base is coming back. It's not just my story that I wish had more reviews. I've seen a lot of awesome Indiana Jones stories that have, at most, 10 reviews. They deserve more.**

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I feel completely ridiculous as we approach the castle, Dad dressed as a Scottish lord while Elsa and I are his 'assistants'. This is Dad's master plan? "This will never work.." I mutter. Dad overhears and ruffles my hair. "Keep your mind open, Kiddo. This just might work." I laugh lightly. All my life, Dad has always known the right thing to say in every situation in order to make me feel better. He always puts me first. The least I can do now is go along with this facetious plan of his. He knocks on the door, giving Elsa and I a thumbs-up. _Oh, Dad..._ When a man in a trim and fit suit opens the door, Dad almost lets himself in. "Well, it's about time. Were you just going to leave us standing there in the rain all day?" he asks in his fake Scottish accent. I'll admit, if we weren't in a life or death situation, I would laugh. Elsa has a slight smirk playing on her lips, which I have the strongest urge to smack off her face. "And who, may I ask, are you?" The butler's voice is cold and dismissive, like he would much rather be dealing with someone of importance than with us. It's _almost _insulting."Don't take that tone with me," Dad snaps, though I'm sure he doesn't care. "Now buttle off and tell Baron Brunwald that Lord Clarence and his two lovely assistants are here to view the tapestries on the east wing of the castle." The excuse is stupid, but I trust Dad knows that. "Tapestries?" Dad looks at us with his hand raised towards the butler. "Is this man dense? Yes, the tapestries. This is a castle, is it not? There are tapestries?" The butler nods tersely. "Yes, of course we have tapestries. But, if you're a Scottish lord, then I am Mickey Mouse," he spits. Dad turns back to us, shaking his head reprovingly. "How dare he?" Then he turns punches the butler in the face quickly and calmly, knocking him out cold.

I throw my odd hat at a hat stand, not caring when I miss. Hey, it's Elsa's, not mine. Elsa and I follow Dad down the long, narrow corridor with no idea where we're going. Dad has a gut feeling about a lot of things, and this is probably one of them. We stop in a hall, right above an opening. Inside, soldiers surround a map, pushing targets into various places. The Nazi flag is displayed proudly. "Nazis. I _hate_ those guys," Dad says. I nod. "Ditto." He makes a sharp u-turn, bringing us to a wooden door. "This is it," he says. "How do you know?" I ask. Dad looks at me, shrugging. "I just know these things, sweetheart. Years of practice." I notice the wire running across the frame of the door. Dad is right; this has to be where they're keeping Grandfather. Dad starts to move again. This time, towards a window. He looks up at Elsa. "You two stay here. I don't know what's waiting for me over there, but it could be dangerous." Before he embarks on the climb to the window across the alleyway leading to the room their keeping Grandfather, he bends down and kisses my forehead. "I love you," he whispers in my ear. I almost say something back. He must think he's in danger. Pretty bad danger if he's telling me he loves me like this is his last opportunity to. "Be safe," I call as he throws the rope onto the balcony. Dad smirks at me, looking like he's saying 'when am I not safe?'. He climbs the rope expertly, disappearing from sight very quickly. I stare at the empty balcony for a few more seconds before turning back over to Elsa. Elsa, however, is not what greets me. Two towering guards stand on either side of her, but they aren't threatening her. They aren;t even touching her. She has a smirk on her face as they stare at me. "Vogel, Krammer, this is Charlotte Jones, Dr. Jones's daughter. She could be of some value to us." Elsa.. she's working with them. "Nazi!" I scream angrily, finally knowing what felt off about her to me. She laughs, a cold and hallow sound. "Smart girl. Vogel, hold her." Two huge arms wrap around my waist. I feel one move and then something cold and metal touches my head. A gun. My immediate reaction is to wiggle and squirm, but I realize my attempts are useless. I can't get out of this one, not like last time. Krammer grabs Elsa, just in time for Dad to slide down the rope with Grandfather.

Dad is carrying a machine gun when he lands on the ground. Suddenly, Krammer throws Elsa into his arms. She looks up at him with a pathetic, and fake, look on her face. From my small point of view, I can see Elsa reach into his pocket and pull something out; the grail journal. She starts to step back from him. Dad has confusion etched on his face. Elsa holds up the grail journal. "Sorry," she says with no remorse in her voice. Dad and Grandfather stare at her in anger, while Vogel just laughs. "Put the gun down, Jones, or your daughter dies," he warns. I can see fear flash through Dad's eyes, just like they probably do mine. I thought I'd be safe here, and I guess Dad thought that too. Dad freezes, though he does not look conflicted on what to do. Vogel runs the gun down the side of my face. "What a shame," he begins. "She's such a pretty girl. She has your eyes, Jones." Just my luck, getting the creepy Nazi. Dad has had enough. "Don't shoot!" he pleads before he slides the gun down the table to Vogel. "Let her go," he demands. I feel Vogel push me forward, straight into Dad's arms much like Elsa. I hug his middle tightly, scared to let go. He pulls me up and squeezes me back. I know the offspring of Dr. Indiana Jones should not be scared of anything, but there can be exceptions, right?

* * *

I rest my head on Dad's leg, looking at my surroundings and pondering a futile plan of escape. What use is it while we're tied to a chair? Grandfather is on another chair tied to Dad's by a rope around their waists, while I'm tied to the leg of the chair, right next to Dad. "We'll get out of this, Char. Don't you worry." Dad never lies, ever. I think this may be the exception to that rule. He doesn't know we'll be alright, nor do I think he thinks it. He just wants to comfort me. "I know, Dad," I lie. "Are you alright, Charlotte?" Grandfather asks. "Yep." We remain silent afterward, waiting for whatever is sure to come next. The door to the lair they're keeping us in opens slowly, shocking us out of our depressed haze. Much to our horror, it is not Vogel or Krammer or some other Nazi minion that stands at the door. It's Walter Donovan, the man who informed Mr. Brody about Grandfather's 'disappearance'. "Donovan," Grandfather spits out like venom in his mouth. "I didn't think you'd sell out your country for something as vile as this." Donovan laughs, unfazed by Grandfather's insult. "Oh, Jones, don't act like you don't understand why I'm doing this." He stalks over to the side that Dad and I are facing. "Now, Dr. Jones and..." He looks down at me with a sickening smile on his face. "Miss Jones. Where is the map?" he demands. "With Marcus Brody," Elsa answers for him. I turn to glare at Elsa, relishing in the fact that my hate for her is now vindicated by her betrayal. Donovan laughs. "Marcus Brody? He sticks out like a sore thumb. He'll be found and brought back her within two days tops." Dad smirks at him. "Like hell you'll find him. Marcus has friends all over the world, and with the two-day start, he'll be long gone by now. He no doubt speaks every language known to man. He'll blend in, disappear. I wouldn't be surprised if he's found the grail already." I have to contain my laugh at the ridiculous lie. We all love Mr. Brody to death, but he's not the brightest or most aware person in the world. He once got lost in his own museum. Donovan nods slowly as he circles the chairs. "You know, Dr. Jones," he starts, directing it at Dad. "You have quite a _lovely_ young daughter." I can feel Dad stiffen in anger. They crossed the line when they mentioned me. "What is it to you, Donovan?" he questions. Donovan laughs coldly again. "Calm down, Jones. We just want to get to know your dear Charlotte. We could use her for many, many things. She's very pleasant to look at, and she _is _a Jones. She must know all about the Grail by now." Vogel winks at me, making me squirm uncomfortably. "You won't touch her," Dad says through gritted teeth. Donovan smirks, realizing he's found Dad's sore spot; me.

"Oh, and how can you be so sure of that? We already have some plans in place for her. Hmmm.. Vogel was right. She does have the Jones eyes. Yes, I know quite a few of us who would be happy to have a little fun with her." I shake persistently despite myself. I'm terrified of Donovan. One man managed to fool us _all_. What is he going to do to me? "Leave her alone. She has nothing to do with any of this." It's Grandfather who says this instead of Dad, surprising me. Donovan raises his eyebrows. "I wouldn't be so sure of that, Henry." His statement is matter-of-fact, making me wonder; his words, Kazim's warning. Why am a part of all of this craziness? "Dr. Schneider, your presence is requested in Berlin," Vogel tells Elsa. She looks at him and nods. Reaching for her pocket. She pulls out the diary. "I'm taking this with me, right?" Vogel smirks and looks directly at us when he answers, "Yes, you will." They exit the room, leaving us tied up and helpless. Dad looks down at me. "I promise I won't let them hurt you," he says seriously. I nod on his leg, but I'm still terrified. What are his 'plans', and where do they include me? His mentions about my involvement and what Kazim said are connecting in my head. I relax, closing my eyes and letting my head rest on Dad's leg.

"Son," I hear. It must be Grandfather. "Don't get sentimental with me right now, Dad, save it for when we get out of here." "The floor's on fire." I jump up. "What?!" I ask. "The floor's on fire," Grandfather repeats. "And the chair, too." Dad bolts right up, desperately trying to move the chair over to the right to escape the growing flames. I push with him, though my strength is nothing in comparison to his. "Into the fire pit," Dad tells us. Of course Grandfather got us into this situation. He should really stick to working at a desk all day instead of trying to work like Dad does. We slam into the fire pit, which, ironically, is the only thing not on fire. "Hold on, I think I can loosen these ropes," Dad says. I can see him struggle with the ropes binding his hands. I try, too. They're just too tight... When I look up, we're not near the fire anymore. We're in a completely different room. Wait... how the heck did that happen?! The room is inhabited by Nazi commanders who are overlooking something on their board. We stay deathly silent, afraid of them seeing us. I hold my breath when a female Nazi starts to look over in our direction. She sees us. What do we do now? Dad and Grandfather wave to her weakly, like that will solve anything. She waves back, dazed and probably scared. It's like something out of a comedy. For a second, I think we're safe. Until she screams something in German. All the soldiers look over in our direction. A loud alarm sounds off. "Oh God!" Dad exclaims. In a panic, I thrash around. There has to be a hidden lever somewhere that makes this fire pit move. Why else would we be here? I'm rewarded when I feel us begin to move again. Suddenly, we're back in the other room. The fire has spread everywhere. I see no escape.

"Dad, what are we supposed to do?!" I scream over the sound of the flames. The chair itself is being eaten by the fire, which is coming dangerously close to our bodies. "I broke free of the ropes!" he yells back. The feel of the scratchy ropes against my skin fades away. Suddenly, I feel him grab me and throw my body upwards so I can escape. "Run, Char!" he yells. Scrambling to my feet, I start to bolt from the room. It's worse than I thought; the fire is consuming the whole building, not just the room. The wooden castle is catching fire quickly. Most of the obvious pathways are blocked by flames, but I manage to jump to the less obvious ones. The smoke gets into my lungs and eyes. I starts to cough violently. Why can't I see that well? I need to push on. C'mon, Char! You're the child of Indiana Jones and Marion Ravenwood. You can get past a little fire. A fiery stick from the ceiling lands on my hand, burning it intensely. I scream and shake it off my throbbing hand. It suddenly occurs to me that Dad and Grandfather are nowhere to be found. Dad was the one who told me to run. He can't be that far behind, can he? I wouldn't be able to see them beyond the smoke, though "Dad!" I scream, coughing afterwards. "Grandfather!" I don't get a response. Stumbling forward, I feel my head start to pound. My vision is leaving me. Must... rest... A hand grabs my shirt and pulls me forward, away from the heavier flames. It must be Dad. He came to save me. "So, Miss Jones," a chilling voice says. "We've found you at last." I freeze in terror. I know that voice, and it's not Dad.

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**Indy POV**

"Where is Char?" I ask Dad. We've escaped the burning castle, but I thought Char would be here, waiting for us. I pushed her ahead of us so she could escape, but I can't find her. She's always been a resourceful girl who I thought would be able to find a way out before us. Dad shrugs. "I don't know. She probably made it out another way or..." He pauses. He doesn't want to say the other option, and I don't want him to, either. We already know what it is. The mere possibility that Char could be dead or captured makes me dizzy with grief. I thought I knew pain when I lost Marion, but when I saw Char with a gun pressed against her head, I felt a small flash of what life is like without her. It wasn't pleasant. "I need to go back to find her," I say, almost to myself. Dad puts his arm out to stop me from walking back into the castle. "Son, you can't go back in there without being killed," he tries to reason with me. "My daughter is in there!" I exclaim. Dad puts his hands on my shoulders. "There's nothing we can do," he whispers. His words hit me hard. There's nothing we can do. She could be suffering in there right now and there's nothing I can do about it. It kills me. "Let's hope that they captured her, then. She can find her way out of that." I don't mean the words I say, but I know it's better than her being killed in the fire. "Let's go," I say reluctantly. I run towards the Nazi motorcycle in the grass, Dad following me closely. I jump in the driver's side while Dad jumps into the side car. The soldiers are pouring out of the castle in droves, all of them running in our direction. I slam on the motorcycle gas without looking back. It hurts too much to look back.

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"Stop!" Dad exclaims. I slam on the breaks at the cross-road between Venice and Berlin. As far as I know, we're safe for now. "What?" I ask quickly, turning my head to see if the soldiers have caught up to us. Luckily, they seem to be far behind. Far behind and dead. I turn back to Dad. "We need the journal," he says. I laugh. Has he forgotten that we only needed the map? "Dad, we need the map, which is with Brody. He's not in Berlin." He looks at me nervously and scratches the back of his neck. "The journal had the key on how to pass the three tests when you find where the Grail is being held. No one else has the key but us." I smile. I knew Dad had to come through for us sometime. "Well, what are they?" I ask. Dad's own smile fades and he looks down at the gravel. I have to restrain myself from smacking him across the face right here, right now. "You remember them, right?" I ask through gritted teeth. "I wrote them down so I wouldn't _need_ to remember them." I sigh in defeat. Just when I thought it was over, we need to go back into the belly of the beast. Back to Berlin. "Dad, we're at a crossroads between Berlin and Venice with half the German army on our tail, and you want me to go to Berlin? Into the lion's den?" I ask exasperately. He nods, as if it's such an easy task. If we weren't family, I would despise him with a passion. "Okay, let's recap; we have no map, we're being followed, we have no idea where my daughter is, and now we have to go back to Berlin. What about Marcus?" Marcus is Dad's best, perhaps only, friend. How could he leave him out in the cold like this? "Marcus would agree with me!" He exclaims. "The Grail is the only thing that matters." I cringe. To him, the Grail is all that matters. It was that way when I was a child, which is the reason why I left home. Nothing has changed at all. Not even for his granddaughter. I shake my head.

"Two selfless martyrs. Jesus..." This earns me a slap across the face from Dad. "That's for blasphemy," he tells me sternly. That's it. This has gone too far. I lean in closely, keeping my voice down to a minimum, but still with a sharp edge. "This is an obsession, Dad. I never understood it, and neither did Mom!" Our conversation sixteen years earlier, the day he first met Char, rings in my mind. I said the exact same thing, though with less harshness and more regret. He doesn't say anything today, unlike that day when he defended himself, saying Mom understood it all too well. Dad looks away from me, lowering his head and taking a sudden interest in the dirt. I sigh, knowing that maybe I was a little hard on him. Maybe he's thinking of our other argument from that day; my leaving to join the war effort. I know he is. "I'm sorry I left, Dad... but I had to go." He looks up at me with a pained expression on his face. "But why did you have to join the war? You could have been killed." I've never seen him be this concerned about me before. Usually, I'm second best to the Holy Grail. The gosh darn Holy Grail. "I didn't get killed," is my lame excuse. Truth is, maybe I'm just used to running. I ran away from my problems with him and risked a permanent rift, I ran away from my feelings for Marion and risked losing her forever. The only thing I've never run away from is Char. "I started my own life. I thought you wanted me gone," I admit. He never seemed like the best choice for a parent. "You didn't even tell me when you got married.." he starts. "We didn't tell anyone. Who would approve of a twenty-eight year old man marrying an eighteen year old girl?" Dad looks at me angrily. "I would." I look at him, shocked. Would he have? I start to drive the bike to Berlin, not bothering to argue with Dad. The sooner we find this Grail, the sooner this will all be over.

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**A/N: The next one will be up soon! As always, please review or fav or follow... I like them all. :)**


	5. Chapter 5

**A/N: Just to avoid confusion and anger, this story is NOT a ripoff of 'Indiana Jones and the Last Crusade' by Jemima123. We're both basing our stories off of the third Indiana Jones movie and I did enjoy her story, but trust me, you'll find that mine differs in MAY ways as you keep reading.**

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The book burning parade is in full swing. The German citizens, complete with their swastikas on, are yelling like wild animals, tossing handfuls of 'non-German' books into the ever growing fire that consumes them, ripping them apart page by page. The heat is like how you feel after being in front of a fire pit too long. The German soldiers march up and down, carrying flags and playing trumpets while Hitler himself stands at a podium in front of the burning circle of books. While everyone is distracted with the celebration, I straighten out the perfectly fitting uniform I 'borrowed' from the nearest Nazi I could find. He'll have a huge headache in the morning. I join Dad at the building near the book burning. Being a book lover himself, I can see the horror written on his face. He turns to me. "Son, we're pilgrims in an unholy land." I nod in assent, unable to take my eyes off these people who hate something so much that they openly celebrate it's destruction. What harm could books do besides let people have _opinions_? Oh, that's right; Nazis don't like opinions. "I'll find the journal," I tell Dad. He sighs. "I know you will." Walking up the steps to the gigantic library that keeps them supplied, I spot a blonde woman in a black hat and a leather jacket, obviously of high caliber in the Nazi world. _Elsa_. She starts walking forward as I catch up to her. Before she can turn around, I grab her shoulders and begin to keep pushing her forward. "Hello, Fräulein," I say sarcastically. She gasps, probably thinking I was dead or still a prisoner. "How did you get here?" she asks. I ignore her question and push her into a column roughly, holding her there. "Were is it? I want it!" She can't stop me as I search her jacket. Sure enough, the ratty old journal is in her pocket. I swiftly take it from her and begin walking away. "Why did you come back for it?" she asks. "My father didn't want it incinerated," I respond, not bothering to turn around. She steps in front of me, blocking my way out. "You know me better than that! I believe in the Grail, not all of this!" She moves her arm towards the vicious parade. It angers me. She's a Nazi who willingly betrayed me, yet she still claims to be on my side? Is she really dense enough to think I'd believe her? "You stood up to be counted with the enemies of everything the Grail stands for! Who gives a *damn* what you believe?" "You do!" she shouts pleadingly. It's enough. I turn around and wrap my hand around her throat. "All I have to do is squeeze," I remind her threateningly. "And all I have to do is scream." I look out at the parade. She's right. If she screams, I'm done for. My cover will be blown. I look back at her. She's not worth it. Reluctantly, I release her neck and walk away with the journal.

When I reach Dad, I hold the journal up for him. "I got it, now let's get the hell outta here." He nods and motions to the Nazi motorcycle we came in on. We shuffle away from the loud, giant crowd of Germans, all vying for Hitler's autograph. I'll never understand how he brainwashed all of these people into blindly following him, but I can't change it. I can only insure that they don't get hold of certain things. We hop on the motorcycle discretely, trying to be careful of anyone watching. Not only did I steal a uniform, but I also stole a bike. Someone might notice that I'm the man they were warned about. A small, dainty hand on my shoulder shocks me out of my thoughts. I jump and look up at the person who touched me. It's not Elsa, which I feared it had been. It's Charlotte. My daughter is here, safe and sound. Immediately, I wrap her up in my arms, desperate to feel her against me so I know she's actually here. I've never been so relieved in my life. I was terrified that she was being tortured or worse. "My Char... You're alive." I repeat this over and over again like a mantra. "I'm here, Daddy," she whispers against my chest. She only calls me Daddy when she's scared or feeling sentimental. I hope that it's the second one. I pull back and look at her. She's in an outfit much like Elsa's; a white blouse, a black jacket and black pants and boots. She blends in perfectly to the background. A natural-born adventurer. Yep, she's definitely my daughter. The last thing I notice is more alarming; a small scar that runs across her jaw, barely noticable, but still there. I run my hand down her cheek. "Are you okay? Did they hurt you?" I ask. She shrugs. I expected that much. She's plucky, the type of girl who would never complain about anything. "Just a little. They wanted to do... more, but I escaped." She shivers a little right before she says 'more'. My hands clench into fists when I realize just what 'more' is. I should have known what Donovan was planning from the beginning. I hold in my anger for Char. That's the last thing she needs right now. "Get in the car, honey." She climbs in next to Dad as I start it up. I don't care how long it takes; I'll kill Donovan with my bare hands for what he did to my daughter and what he was going to do.

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**Charlotte's POV**

I just narrowly escaped Donovan and Vogel after they threatened me extensively and tried to hit and smack information out of me. Information I don't have, by the way. They had already lashed me across the face quite a few times, hence the small scar on my jaw line. That's why I have never appreciated being in my Dad's arms more than I do now. He's always so warm and comforting, even when the rest of the world doesn't seem like a very good place to me. The blimp's quietness is relaxing after what happened to me, even if we're still in danger. Well, not _too much _danger anymore. "It looks like we're finally getting somewhere," Dad comments to Grandfather, who looks skeptical as he reads his newspaper. "When we're airborne, safely out of Germany, I'll share that sentiment." Dad rolls his eyes. They never agree, ever. Dad says fat, Grandfather says thin. Grandfather says black, Dad says white. It never ends. They have only one common bond; Me. You have no idea the pressure of single-handedly holding a family together. I turn my head away from their arguing. Instead, I focus on the people. Everyone seems of importance with their dresses and suits, while we just barely blend in with them. Over to the entrance way, I see someone in a uniform. Could it be one of the attendants? When he turns his head around towards us, I gasp. It's Vogel. "Dad!" I whisper in an anxious tone. He looks down at me. "We've got company." I point to Vogel, who Dad spots immediately. In traditional Dad fashion, he stays completely calm, barely even flinching. "Char, go blend in with the nearest family. Remember what I've taught you." Yes, he's taught me how to get out of sticky situations. I nod, rushing away from the table. After what Vogel did to me, I do not want to be anywhere near him. When I spot an eight kid family, I join them, pretending that I just want to pass them in order to use the bathroom. They politely move as best as they can, except for a few of the younger children. When the littlest child tugs on my pants, I take the opportunity to become a real part of the group. I bend down to her eye level. "Hi, sweetie," I say softly. She giggles, wrapping her small hand around my finger. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see the parents look at me, but their concern seems to fade quickly. I'm a small sixteen year old girl with absolutely nothing alarming about me. Why would I be cause for concern? Baby-sitting Sallah's kids makes this easy. I let the little girl giggle and ramble on about whatever it is she's trying to say while I nod, pretending to understand. *Smack* I turn around at the noise. I see Dad, dressed as an attendant, holding up Vogel by his uniform. Vogel looks disoriented and dizzy. He's obviously been punched in the face by Dad. Dad hurls him out of the open window by his shirt. After Vogel lands, I hear a clanking sound. When I realize he landed on the luggage, I have to hold back my laugh. Dad dusts off the clean, white uniform like nothing happened. Everyone is staring at Dad. He suddenly becomes aware of his surroundings as his eyes scan the scared faces of the passengers, who are horrified by what they just witnessed. He sticks his thumb out towards Vogel's direction. "No ticket," he announces as an excuse for throwing Vogel out of the blimp. As if on cue, everyone hold up their blimp ticket.

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"You know, sharing your adventures is an interesting experience." The tension leaves Dad's body as Grandfather says this. This may be the closest thing to a compliment he's ever been given by Grandfather, who is much too wrapped up in his own little world to worry about other people or their pesky feelings. Dad laughs and shakes his head. "It's not all we've shared." Oh God. I groan when I realize that they're going to discuss this right here, right now. So much for a family moment. "It's disgraceful," Dad says reprovingly. "You're old enough to be her grandfather." Grandfather shrugs. "I'm just as human as the next man." Dad sighs and leans in closely. "I _was_ the next man." If the people talking about this weren't members of my family, I'd be laughing my butt off. However, hearing that your Grandfather and your Father were both involved with the same woman is just gross. Grandfather laughs nervously, probably unaware of what to say. "Well, um.. ships that pass in the night." My head falls down into my hands at his pathetic excuse. "Can we not talk about Elsa?" I suggest. "I knew that I hated her guts from the moment I met her." Dad looks at me in surprise. "Why?" he asks. I shrug. "Maybe because she was the first person that I thought you might seriously consider after Mom died..." My voice is soft, barely there, but Dad picks up on it. He smiles sadly at me. "I loved your mom, Kiddo. I still do, but she'd want us both to be happy. I can't say I don't still have her with me in some ways. I have you, and you're a part of her." I pick my head up to meet his eyes, a smile spreading across my face. I can't remember her, no matter how stubbornly I may try, but she sounds wonderful and bright. Apparently, I look like a mix of Dad and Mom. He tells me that I got the best features of both of them. My hair is medium length, naturally multi-colored brown. I got the texture from Mom, while the color is closer to Dad's. My eyes are Dad's light blue ones, which clash with my hair, but not in a bad way. Growing up around men, I've adopted a tomboyish style and would rather gauge my eyes out than wear a dress constantly like my peers, just like what Mom was like. I am a part of her, just like I'm a part of him.

The quietness that follows after the scene caused by Vogel soothes us into believing that our troubles were left behind in Germany. I'm starting to regret tagging along with Dad, but on the other hand, I'm glad I know he's here, safe and sound with Grandfather. Now I'm just looking forward to getting this Grail and going home to resume my normal, teenage life. Well, as normal as it was before this. Dad and Grandfather are drinking quietly while I look over the menu. "Do you remember the last time we had a quiet drink together?" Dad asks Grandfather with a hint of happy nostalgia in his voice. "I had a milkshake." Grandfather looks off, probably trying to remember the moment Dad is recollecting. "What did we talk about?" Grandfather asks, still puzzled. Dad's smile fades quickly and he sighs. "We didn't talk. We never talked." He sounds sad and bitter. Dad doesn't like to talk about his childhood below age sixteen, the year he left home. Whenever I try to bring it up, he gets a pained look on his face and changes the subject. Grandfather leers at Dad curiously. "What are you getting at?" he asks. "It was just you and me, Dad. It was a lonely way to grow up. You were obsessed with your precious Grail, and I had to raise myself. Why couldn't you have been like everyone else's fathers?" Grandfather narrows his eyes. I sigh, knowing that they're getting into one of their famous arguments now. "We're not as different as you pretend, Junior. I was at home all the time, unlike you. What about Charlotte? You leave her in the States while you parade around the globe in search of all of your treasures that could possibly get you killed. What makes you a better parent than I was?" I close my eyes tightly. I know Grandfather has really crossed the line this time. No one questions Dad on his parenting. Not Mr. Brody, not Mom's relatives, not Sallah, nobody. "You have no right to accuse me of not caring for my daughter!" Dad exclaims quietly. "I make sure Char knows she's the most important thing in my life, unlike what you did for me." The two are just staring at each other now, trying to pinpoint another way to insult the other. I've heard enough. "Will you guys just stop it?!" They turn to me in shock. I've been quiet for most of the trip, not bothering to interfere in their business. "Just stop," I continue. "You can either accept your differences and make amends now, or keep on arguing forever and accomplish nothing. Choose." I cross my arms over my chest, waiting for one of them to speak up. It's Dad who eventually sighs. "You're right, Char. We'll stop." I smile happily like my usual, non-take-charge self and look back over the drink menu.

I start to stare out the window at the beautiful scenery. The ground is still slightly visible, while the clouds are clear in the sky. Suddenly, I see the shift in the clouds and the grass. It's like the blimp is turning around. I realize that it isn't just _like_ the blimp is turning around. It _is_ turning around. We're going the wrong way. I shake Dad's shoulder. "Dad, we're going the other way. We're going back to Germany." He turns his head to look out the window. At first, he doesn't see it. I can tell by his eyes growing that he does later. "We have to leave, now." He grabs my hand and motions for Grandfather to follow him. All eyes are on us as we maneuver through the halls. "There's a plane attached to the blimp. It's our only chance," Dad says quickly. I stiffen slightly. A plane? I'm not sure this will work. We reach the place in the blimp where they go for emergency exits or to fix any problems it may have. Dad opens the trap door, letting the cold air flow in. We climb down the stairs of the maintenance area, reaching the plane at the end. I look at the plane, so far down. "Jump in," he tells Grandfather, who looks more than reluctant. He hesitates. "I said jump in," Dad repeats impatiently. Grandfather finally allows himself to fall into the passenger's seat on the small plane. As soon as Grandfather is settled in, Dad jumps into the cockpit. It's so far down. Bravely, I close my eyes and tell myself that it's only a few inches off the ground. It's impossible to miss. I jump onto Dad's seat without being told to by him. I must be better at lying to myself than I thought. "Very good, Char," he praises. Dad readjusts us so I'm sitting on his lap and he has full control of the plane, which he starts to detach from the blimp. "I didn't know you knew how to fly a plane," Grandfather comments to Dad over the plane's roaring engine. "Fly, yes," Dad says. "Land..." He separates the plane from the blimp. "No." Grandfather's color leaves his face at Dad's admission. I groan. We're all gonna die, I just know it!

I begin to hyperventilate despite myself. Dad's terrified of snakes, Grandfather has a fear of rats. My irrational fear is flying. Well, it's not that irrational if you think about it for a minute; you're thousands of feet above the ground in a machine that could make a thousand different mistakes that could very well cost you your life. People survive car accidents, not plane accidents. Looking down at the distant ground, my eyes widen in panic. . Dad grabs my hand gently. "It's okay, Char," he soothes. "I wouldn't let anything happen to you, would I? We're gonna be okay." I shut my eyes tightly and tell myself to man up. Compared to all that Dad has been through, this should be easy. I open my eyes again, turning away from the oncoming obstacles. The sight I'm faced with is not pretty; three German planes are on our tail. "We're being followed!" I scream. Dad turns around towards Grandfather. "Dad, you're going to have to work the machine gun," he tells Grandfather. Uh oh. Grandfather and a lethal weapon? The man doesn't even know how to work a hand-gun, much less a machine gun. "Dad, 11 o'clock!" Grandfather pulls out his pocket watch. "What happens at 11 o'clock?" Getting impatient myself, I point south with my hand "12." I move my hand further to my left. "11." I move it over again. "10. 11 o'clock, fire!" Grandfather finally seems to let it click in his head. He grabs ahold of the machine gun and begins to fire at the 11 o'clock mark. I cover my ears and turn back to face where Dad is facing. Grandfather being in control of a weapon scares me. He's uncoordinated, clumsy, and downright clueless sometimes. Those traits and weapons do not mix. "Dad, are we hit?" Dad screams at Grandfather. "More or less," he answers. "I'm sorry, son. They got us." The tail of the plane is torn from gunshots. From Grandfather or the enemy, I'm not sure which one, but we're hit hard. Without the tail, we'll go down. Right on cue, Dad yells, "We're going down!" Right as always.

When I see the farm and cattle ahead of us, I scream. Before I know what's happening, Dad grabs me and holds me against his chest to shield me from seeing us crash. Suddenly, I feel the plane jump up and down as it skids forward. I can feel the bumpiness and the speed, blowing my hair back violently. Dad just holds me tighter as I scream louder and louder. The feeling of a plane landing is already unpleasant enough, much less the feeling of crashing. "We're gonna die!" I scream. Slowly and bumpily, the plane comes to a stop. I release a breath I didn't know I was holding. I can feel Dad pet my hair soothingly like he did was I was young and had a nightmare. "See? We're okay. You were brave for facing you fear, Char." Brave? More like scared to death. Besides, I seem to remember a few situations where Dad had to face a few snakes. I'm unable to recover before he grabs my hand and forces me out of the plane seat. The dust from the ground rises with each bullet shot I hear fired at us. We bolt from our plane to the rock wall separating the farmer's ground and the road. I jump over the edge, holding my head down in hopes I won't be shot. "Those people are trying to kill us!" Grandfather exclaims, as though it just became obvious to him. "I know, Dad!" Dad exclaims, frustrated. "Well, this is a new experience for me," he says in his defense. I point to Dad. "It happens to him all the time." Dad laughs at my off-beat comment. "Now, we just have to find a way to get out of here," he says. My eyes immediately start scanning the surrounding area. We're on a road, virtually abandoned. Further down, I spot a man fixing up his car. A car that could take us places... "Dad," I call. He looks over to me. "I think I have an idea."

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**A/N: Oh, and to almp15: THANK YOU! You're awesome! I was looking through your favorited stories. Do you have a thing for stories where a made-up family member comes in? I do too! And thanks for the fav. Indy and Char are both giving you a virtual hug right now. :)**


	6. Chapter 6

**A/N: Disclaimer: I don't own the 'Indiana Jones' series or any of the characters. If I did, he would have stayed with Marion so Willie and Elsa would have never had a chance. I DO own Charlotte Desmona Jones, though. Let's keep it that way.**

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"I kinda feel bad for taking that guy's car," I say as we speed down the road in the stolen vehicle. "Eh, don't worry," Dad tells me casually. "It was a genius idea on your part." I smile. It _was_ a pretty good idea. I've been getting better at this line of work under Dad's guidance. The German plane is desperately trying to follow us, clumsily shooting. I have no idea where the second one went, but I have no time to find out. There's a tunnel ahead that the pilot of the plane would be crazy to think he could slip into without damaging his plane. "Go faster through the tunnel," I tell Dad. He slams on the gas even harder as we pass through the dark tunnel, if that's even possible. I hear a loud slamming sound coming from the entrance. The light from a fire is easy to see in the back of us. I suspect that he lost his wings. We're driving as fast as we can, but the fire is getting closer to us. I can feel the heat against my skin, just like at the book burning parade. When the fire nears, I turn to my left to see what he lost. The plane is skidding along the road with us, still fiery, and with a very confused looking pilot in it. He stares back at us as his plane passes, leaving the tunnel quickly while we lag behind, and for good reason. It explodes when it reaches the end, scattering tiny pieces everywhere and killing whoever was inside. Dad faces it head on, as if it's no big deal. I duck, expecting the car to catch fire. It doesn't. Instead, it crumbles when Dad drives through it. The pilot is finally dead, but we have yet to deal with the other one. Dad slams on the brakes very suddenly, causing us all to fly forward. I grab Dad's back to stop me from being hurled out of the car. Surprisingly, I'm much less terrified. I'm just exhilarated now. It's a Jones thing.

We're on a rocky beach, the type you know you'd find in Europe that you would never want to relax at. It's beautiful, though. I can see the next plane in the distant sky, closing in on us with enthusiasm. Grandfather simply looks up at it and takes out his umbrella. I shake my head. What good will an umbrella do to us right now? He walks towards the annoying, loud seagulls, bringing his umbrella in and out to scare them away. Why, I'm not sure. I exchange a look with Dad, one that says 'Has he gone insane?'. The bird gather into a messy group and fly off towards the plane. I realize what Grandfather's plan was when I see the bird's beaks smashing through the windshield, blocking the pilot's view. The plane starts to fly clumsily and zooms right over our heads, only to crash into the rocky hills in the distance and explode from impact. I'm impressed. Who would have thought Grandfather was that smart when it came to dangerous situations? He strolls towards us with his umbrella flung over his shoulder. "I suddenly remembered my Charlemagne. Let my armies be the rocks and the trees and the birds in the sky.." He hums as he goes along past us. For the first time in my life, I can see pride in Dad's eyes, directed at Grandfather. It's like he's finally realized that the two have something in common. Like father, like son.

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The trek to Jordan was not an enjoyable one. With the heat and the lack of good transportation methods, it can be tedious. All was forgiven when I saw Sallah, Dad's good friend and one of my many adult friends, waiting for us. He was the friend Mom and Dad were visiting when Mom died. He was present at the wedding and when I was born. Sallah, Harold Oxley (better known to us as Ox), Collin Williams, and Mr. Brody are among some of the friends of Dad's that have gotten as close to my heart as Belinda. I really need to socialize this kids my own age, but oh well. "Sallah!" I exclaim as I jump into his arms for a welcoming hug. He laughs happily, a booming, yet comforting sound. "It's good to see you too, little one! The children always ask about you." I beam at his comment. I absolutely love Sallah's children, all 15 of them. 9 are older than me, while I've been able to babysit 6 of them. "I miss them too," I answer genuinely. Dad taps me on the back, bringing me away from Sallah. He and Sallah shake hands and smile at each other, having not seen the other in quite a long time. "Where's Marcus?" Dad asks him. Sallah's smile fades and he freezes nervously. I don't know what happened to Mr. Brody, but judging from the look on Sallah's face, it can't be good. "The Nazis have him." My heart sinks. They had me, and I still have the scar to prove it. "Oh," Dad whispers. "I see. He has the map." How many problems do we have to encounter on this trip? "We have to track down Donovan," I say determinedly. "If we find him, we find Mr. Brody." Dad puts his hand on my shoulder, squeezing comfortingly. "We'll find him, Kiddo." I can only hope he's right, the same way I just had to hope the other times, too.

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"Take a look at this." I reach for Dad's binoculars and look at Donovan's tanks like he told me to. Sitting in a car, leading the army is none other than Donovan himself, a prim and proper Elsa, who manages to look good in desert gear, at his side while Mr. Brody sits unhappily in the back seat of the car with his arms crossed defiantly across his chest. I don't know how Donovan got the cars, tanks, weapons, and army when the world is at war, but the point is he has them and we have to do something about it. "What's our plan?" I ask. Immediately after asking, I regret it, knowing what the answer is. Dad shoots me a fake glare. "Char, what's my motto?" he asks slowly. I sigh, having heard his motto more than my own name. "I'm making this up as I go..." I mumble in response. He nods, a satisfied smile on his face. "Exactly. We'll see just how good his fleet _really_ is and develop our plan from there." From living with him for all sixteen years of my life, I know that 'plan' really means 'poorly sketched out course of action that is never followed anyway'. I know it's better this way, though. Dad doesn't do well under structured activities. "Can't they see us from here?" Grandfather asks. Dad shakes his head. "We're way out of range. They can't hit us." His second sentence is overshadowed by a loud explosion behind us. I whip my head around to examine the scene. We've been fired at by Donovan, who missed and hit a boulder. "Out of range, eh?" I joke. Sallah laughs quietly.

"We have no time! Move, move, move!" Dad exclaims. What happens next goes by in a huge blur, like one big feverish dream. Have you ever done something so fast or been so afraid that you can't even remember what happened? That's what it feels like. If I were to try to recount it, I would fail miserably. I base my actions on pure instinct instead of logic. All I know is it involves at lot of blood and gunshots. I'm broken out of my dehydration-induced reverie when I feel someone shake me. My hand automatically flies up, smacking the person on instinct. "Ow!" I turn around, prepared to fight, but then I see Grandfather rubbing his sore cheek. "Sorry! I thought you were a Nazi. What do you need?" I know we don't have much time to discuss anything, so I try to rush him along as he speaks. "Marcus is in the tank. It's unguarded and I thought maybe we could..." "Rescue him?" I guess. He nods sheepishly. Grandfather is definitely not used to Dad's world of fast thinking and even faster actions. He still thinks his ideas aren't good enough to be used. However, I'd rather not miss any opportunity. I hop on the slow-moving tank and motion for Grandfather to follow. Moving along the top is easy. The soldiers are in the convoy and not bothering with the large tank. As I jump down the hatch, I look around one last time to make sure I'm not being watched by a Nazi. "Charlotte!" Mr. Brody slaps me on the shoulder affectionately when I fall into place in the tank. "What a marvelous rescue mission!" he declares. "Yes, it is, isn't it?" Grandfather agrees. I swear, when these two get together, they lose at least twenty IQ points between the two of them. I shake my head. "We have no time for this! Let's get outta here." I turn around to climb the stairs of the tank. Before I can reach for the latter, I'm faced with a sight worse than death. I'm certain I'm staring into the eyes of pure evil, the evil that almost cost me my life once before; Vogel.

He grabs my wrist painfully. "There you are, Miss Jones. It's good to see you again." Sarcasm drips from his words, just like I'm sure hatred drips from my stare. "Let go of me, Vogel," I demand with a sharp edge in my voice. He smiles coldly. "You're in a position unsuitable to give orders, Miss Jones. But, we've been warned about your rather feisty personality. If we can handle your father, I think I can handle you." His grip on me tightens as he turns around to look at Grandfather and Mr. Brody. "What a bunch we've collected here. Hello, Dr. Jones Sr." Grandfather walks up to him. "Let her go, Vogel. Ask me anything you must, but leave her out of it." Vogel shakes his head and rolls his eyes, as if we're all idiots that he has the burden of dealing with. "You really don't understand, do you? The girl is more a part of this than you know. She's a part of something bigger than all of this, bigger than the Grail. We _need_ her." I shiver involuntarily. What am I part of? Why do they need me? "But," Vogel starts. "We do have a few questions for you, Dr. Jones." He pushes me away, pulls his leather glove off and weighs it around in his hand for a minute. "Why do you need the diary?" He smacks Grandfather across the face with the glove. "Why was the map not enough?" *Smack* "What does it tell you that we don't know?" He moves to smack him again, but Grandfather catches his wrist. He begins to speak slowly and dangerously, "It tells me that Nazi morons like yourself should try reading books instead of burning them!" I laugh lightly, amused, but still scared out of my mind. Another soldier climbs down, and then another. "We have some problems out there with Jones." Vogel waves them off. "Both Joneses are right here." The soldier shakes his head. "The other Dr. Jones, sir." I smile. Dad always finds a way to defeat his challengers. "Dad!" I hear someone yell. The soldiers, led by Vogel, immediately stand back up. "Jones!" one of them exclaims. While they're distracted, I see a gun drop down onto the floor next to me. It's obviously Dad's doing. He wants us to escape.

Grandfather notices it, too. As he reaches for it, I beat him to it, grabbing the gun as quietly as possible. He looks at me quizzically. We both know the gun was not meant for me, but I got us into this mess, and I intend to get us out. I lean in closely to Grandfather and Mr. Brody. "Make a scene," I whisper. Vogel is gone, leaving us with two soldiers to deal with. This should be easy. Vogel would have kept a close eye on us, while these two don't seem to care. I point the gun towards one of the men who isn't paying attention, while Grandfather and Mr. Brody walk toward the other one who is manning the tank. I wink at them, giving them a cue to hit the man over the head. I feel myself pull the trigger, getting the man in the back, but not quite killing him. I don't need to be responsible for a death. Grandfather and Mr. Brody succeed in knocking the other man out cold. He hits the floor with a thud. I sigh in relief. "Now let's get out of here," I say. Grandfather and Mr. Brody climb out on the ladder as I hook my legs on it, following them. I feel resourceful and safe, two things I haven't felt since this trip started.

When my body hits the fresh air, I feel two strong hands reach out and grab my forearms, pinning me to the tank. No, no, no! I just escaped, this cannot be happening. I thrash and squirm, not even bothering to look up at my captor in the confusion. I can hear Dad, soldiers, and the sound of the tank hitting rocks and dirt, painting a picture of a large, fast-paced battle. It's all happening _too_ fast. "You can't escape us this time, sweetheart," a cold voice whispers in my ear. Of course, Vogel expected me to escape! I'm my father's daughter. As much as I hate him, I have to admit he's a smart man. He holds me closer to the tank, leaning in so closely to my ear that I can feel his warm breath on my neck, making me squirm even more. "We want you, Charlotte Jones, and we always get what we want. Always." I smirk at him and spit in his face, catching him off guard. "Not this time." When he brings his hand up to wipe the saliva off his cheek, I knee him in the groin harshly with as much power as I can muster. Vogel reels back in pain, howling as he falls down. I stand up on the moving tank slowly, trying to stay stable. Dad's riding a horse along the side of the tank, trying to keep up.

"I have this handled pretty well!" I yell to him, trying to keep him from helping me. He shakes his head at me, extending a hand. "Pull me up!" I do as he says, grabbing his hand and helping him on the tank. He manages to pull himself on, just as Vogel regains his strength. Dad turns around quickly, punching Vogel in the face. Vogel lunges back at him. As they battle, I come to a shocking realization; no one is driving the tank. The two soldiers are injured and knocked out and Vogel is too busy with Dad. This is my chance. With both Dad and Vogel's backs turned, I climb back into the open hatch quickly, watching my step. No one is in the tank. How could they be this careless? Well, it gives me the upper hand. I grab the... what are they called? You know, the things that you look at your targets through? Whatever it is, I look out of it, trying to find the cars the majority of soldiers are on. Finally, I find it. Much to my dismay, Elsa is not on it. I have a personal vendetta against her. I want to blow up the convoy, but I have no idea how the inerworkings of a tank.. well, work. How do I shoot at a target? "I'll kill you, Jones!" Dad's fight is getting heated. This needs to happen, fast. Just push a gosh darn button, Char! I start to smack the various buttons in a panic. Red ones, green ones, blue ones. All the buttons are hit. "Work, darn you! Work!" I scream in frustration. Finally, I hear a missile launch from the tank. Grabbing the ladder, I start to climb up, not even waiting to see if I hit the convoy. I know I did.

Much to my horror, only Dad and Vogel remain on the tank, which is dangerously nearing the cliff. I rush to Dad's aid, boldly jumping on Vogel's back and wrapping my arms around his neck. The adrenaline is rushing through my veins to a point where I'm sure I wouldn't feel it if Vogel hit me. "Get off the tank!" I scream at Dad. He pays no attention to me, instead trying to break me apart from Vogel, who I am savagely kicking on the legs. Vogel tries to elbow me in the side, but I avoid his blows, tightening my grip on his neck. Dad picks me up, detaching me from Vogel and setting me on the ground. "Get off the tank," he says before punching Vogel in the face. I look over to the cliff, which we're now tipping over on. It's much too late for us to abandon the tank. "Dad!" I scream, clinging onto his leg. Vogel looks behind him, probably realizing that he's done for. I now know how it feels to face your impending doom. I feel the tank begin to go over the edge and Dad hold me tight against him. My screaming is drowned out by the sound of crashing. I shut my eyes tightly and wait for the pain to begin. Death is surely coming quickly, as I was on the tank. So... why don't I feel burning? Why don't I feel sharp pains? Should I open my eyes? I'm convinced that I'll just see white. I'm probably dead. No, I _am_ dead. "Junior! Charlotte!" I hear the screams from above me. How can I hear Grandfather when I'm dead? "Indy! Char!" Sallah too? Reluctantly, I open my eyes. I can see the open desert, the deserted tank and the cliff above me. I'm alive. I don't know how, but the impact of the fall didn't kill me. I feel arms wrap around me, pulling me up from the ground. I freeze; could it be Vogel? "Thank God you're alright." I relax. It's Dad. He survived, too. Turning to face him, I throw my arms around his neck. He pats my back gently and lets me bury my head into his chest. "We should get up there before they assume we're dead.." he whispers. I nod, separating from him. "How?" I ask, ignorant as to how we can get up the cliff. Dad smiles mischievously, a look I know well. He points to a tree root sticking out of the cliff edge, dipping down towards us. "You can climb, can't you?" I let out a huff and push him out of the way. "Ladies first." He laughs hoarsely despite our desperate situation.

I grab on to the root with my red, sore hands, pulling on it to hoist me up. I can feel my palms ache as I pull against the scratchy roots, my head still pounding from the noise of the tank. Finally reaching the dirt covered cliff is a welcome relief. I force myself onto the solid earth. Grandfather, Sallah and Mr. Brody are at the edge, staring into the distance. Sallah's hat is off, now placed near his heart, his expression on of shock and pain, along with Grandfather's. Mr. Brody's is confused. No surprise there. Dad emerges from the abyss, out of breath and ragged like me. I beckon him over to our friends, who now have their hands on their hearts as a sign of respect for us. Are they blind? Nonchalantly, I tap Grandfather on the back. He turns around, still dazed, nods slightly to acknowledge my presence, and turns back to the cliff. Seriously? I simply count down from five, waiting until it sets in for him. 5, 4, 3, 2, 1... He turns back around, his mouth wide open, and gathers me into a hug. I stiffen momentarily. Grandfather never hugs me, or anyone, for that matter. Eventually, I relax in his arms. "We thought you were dead, Charlotte!" I hug him back, smiling. "You'll have to try harder than that to get rid of me," I say jokingly. Grandfather lets me go. His eyes widen when he sees Dad, who's looking on at my reunion with everyone. Grandfather grabs him by the shoulders and looks at him, examining his only son. Grandfather pulls Dad into a hug. "I thought I'd lost you too, boy." Dad pats Grandfather on the back. "I thought you had too, Sir." I just look at them. Two stubborn, estranged family members finally acting civil to each other. Heck, it's more than civil. Grandfather was devastated, even just for that moment, thinking he'd lost his son, whom he never really had a chance to bond with. Dad looks ecstatic to be hugging Grandfather. He never showed Dad much affection as a child, so that hug must mean the world to him. As corny as it may sound, the sight of them hugging warms my heart. Geez, what's happening to me?

Grandfather lets go of Dad, awkwardly clearing his throat. "Well done. Now, let's go." The thought of continuing in our condition causes both Dad and I to collapse, exhausted from our adventure. "Well, don't just sit there resting when we're so close to the end!" I glare at Grandfather with a deadly gleam in my eye, cutting off his words. If looks could kill... Dad chuckles lightly, extending a hand to me. "What do you say, Kiddo?" I smile in spite of my grouchiness and take his hand. "I say we find ourselves a Holy Grail."

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**A/N: Can any of you guys guess what familiar character I'm bringing into the story later? ;)**


	7. Chapter 7

**A/N: I love you guys! Special shoutouts to almp15, Synyster.A7X, LoriJane1995, Captain Shamrock, and the two guests who reviewed (I wish you had out a name so I could thank you!). You guys all make my day, you have no idea. :) Oh, and I noticed a mistake in my first chapter. To clear it up, I want to say that Indy was twenty-eight when Char was born.**

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"There it is!" Grandfather exclaims in amazement, pointing to our destination. We've reached the cliff side temple where we believe the Grail is being held. If Grandfather has done his life work correctly, it _is _where the Grail is being held. But, we also know that Donovan's men are already inside. Dad helps me off the horse quietly, putting his finger to his lips and then gesturing to the temple to show me we have to be quiet in the temple. I nod, following him and the others through the large, open door as quietly as possible. Inside is a stone like chamber, mirroring the outside look. The pathways are narrow and confusing, but I just follow along with the others like a lackey. It's obvious that I'm not the brains of this operation, but according to Donovan and Vogel, I mean more to the Grail, or whatever it is they mean, than I know. I still haven't the slightest idea what they're referring to when they say that. Dad suddenly stops me by outstretching his arm, cutting my off where I stand. I can see a small opening over his arm. Donovan and his men stand in a grand looking palace of sorts, the seemingly frightened soldiers holding their guns at the ready. Dad motions for me to go sit down in the crawl space so I can see them more clearly. I sit down in the rocky, jagged rocks of the floor, staring at Donovan and his fleet, who are in turn looking at a large opening in the wall. The entrance to the strange lair is covered in cobwebs and ominous looking. Slowly, a man from their fleet approaches the opening. I hold my breath when I notice how terrified he is. There must be a reason why no one wants to be that person to go up. He walks shakily down the passageway, looking around at everything nervously. I almost feel bad for the man. Donovan, Elsa and the rest of the crew look at him expectantly, waiting for some sign that this is not an impossible task to pass the threshold. When I look closely, I see human heads lining the floor. I cover my mouth in horror. I know this will not end well for this man. He's sure to become just another severed head on the floor. Suddenly, the cobwebs lift up, as if an invisible force is moving them. A glow starts behind them, and the man panics. I do not see what happens next; Dad places his hands over my eyes, obviously not wanting me to be exposed to whatever it is that happens. I stubbornly want to see it, to see what it takes to get the Grail, but I let Dad cover my eyes. Part of me doesn't want to see something so gruesome.

He uncovers my eyes, just in time for me to see the head of the man roll down the stairs, still wearing a scared expression. I gasp quietly. Dad looks at me, giving a short nod to say, 'Yep, it's that bad'. I turn around, unable to continue looking at it. I'm met with a gun aimed at my head. One of Donovan's soldiers looks at me, keeping his gun squarely aimed at my forehead. I gulp and elbow Dad. He turns around, and the gunman switches his aim to Dad's temple. Dad starts to move us back, getting the attention of Mr. Brody, Sallah and Grandfather, who all stand up and put their hands up in defeat. The soldier makes an upwards motion with the gun, telling us silently to stand up. Terrified, we do as we're told. Before I can even register what's happening, he's leading us into the room with Donovan and his army. Donovan has a sick smile on his face when he sees us. "Hello again, Dr. Jones," he says casually, as if we're not being held at gunpoint here. An invisible line is drawn between us. Donovan's army on one side, our gang of misfits on the other. Elsa steps forward, looking Dad up and down. My fists clench out of pure hatred and anger for this woman who so blatantly betrayed my father. "I never expected to see you again," she spits out coldly. I eye her with more hatred than I've ever felt for a human being. "Is that what usually happens with the men you use to get your way?" I ask sarcastically, surprising everyone. Donovan's men stare at me like I'm a little menace who should learn to keep her mouth shut. I'm way past that point, though. Dad puts his hand on my shoulder, pushing me back behind him slightly as a 'down, girl' gesture. "I'm like a bad penny," he says to Elsa. "I always turn up." Donovan puts his hand on Elsa's shoulder. "Step back now, Dr. Schneider. Give Dr. Jones some room. After all, he is going to recover the Grail for us." Dad laughs, mumbling the word 'impossible'. Donovan raises his eyebrows. "Impossible? What do you say, Jones, ready to go down in history?" Dad narrows his eyes. "As what, a Nazi stooge like you?" Donovan shakes his head and breaks apart from the group, pacing around the room. "Nazis? Is that the limit of your vision? The Nazis want to write themselves into Grail legend and take on the world. They're welcome to. But I want the Grail itself. The cup," he pauses. "..that gives everlasting life. Hitler can have the world, but he can't take it with him. I'm going to be drinking my health when he's become nothing but a distant memory. The Grail is mine, and you're going to get it for me." He reaches into his coat pocket and withdrawals a pistol, pointing it straight at Dad. I'm still calm; he wouldn't shoot Dad if he wanted him to get the Grail. "Shooting me won't get you anywhere," Dad points out. "You know what? You're absolutely right." He turns his gun away from Dad, and a sickening shot rings out, silencing everyone.

I feel a sharp pain in my abdomen followed by numbness, but it must be something else, right? Surely I wasn't the one who was shot! Like Donovan and Vogel said, I'm part of something important. They wouldn't risk my death. I look over at Dad for reassurance, but he has a horrified expression on his face, staring down at my stomach. "Char..." he whispers, reaching out for me slightly. I look down at my stomach, too. It's sticky with deep crimson blood, soaking through my shirt. No, this cannot be happening. This _isn't_ happening. Wasn't I important to the operation or something along those lines? Why would they shoot _me_? Suddenly, my legs give out and I fall onto Dad. He catches me, laying me on the cold, stone ground. My breath quickens in a state of panic. I have to live! I can't let this wound- no, this inconvenience, beat me. Dad pulls my shirt up slightly and removes my leather jacket. He grabs Mr. Brody's handkerchief and places it over my injury, pressing down. Grandfather gently takes over pressing it down, while Dad pushes my hair out of my eyes. "It'll be okay, Char.." he says, his voice shaking. He turns around, about to lunge at Donovan. He points his gun at Dad and says, "You can't do her any good when you're dead. Only the healing power of the grail can save your daughter now. It's time to ask yourself what you believe." I struggle to sit up when I hear this, intending to go with Dad to find it, but the pain causes me to lay back down, a whimper escaping my throat. Dad looks back at me with so much pain in his eyes that you'd think he's the one who was shot instead of me. He kisses my forehead once, and whispers, "I love you," before leaving to find the Grail.

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**Indy POV**

I'm shaking. Not because I'm afraid of what might happen to me as I try to find the Grail, but because I'm terrified of what will happen to my daughter. She's losing blood, fast. If I don't find this Grail, she's done for. Char's my whole life. If she were to die, I'd be dead. Like what happened after I drank that blood of the Kali Ma **(A/N: kudos to those who love the 2nd Indy movie too)**, living, but like a nightmare that you never wake up from. So, I gather everything I've studied from Dad's diary to use for when I'm passing through the entrance to the Holy Grail. I can clearly remember what the diary said about the first challenge, along with what I learned from living with Dad for sixteen years. "The penitent man shall pass.." I mumble, remembering what I read. "Penitent man..." The cobwebs start to rise, the glow starts to form. "Petitent man kneels before God... KNEEL!" I quickly hurl myself to the ground, just in time for a blade to slice through the air where my head would have been. I roll away from the first trap, which I was successful in dodging. I breathe a sigh of relief, continuing on to the next test.

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**Char POV**

I gasp for air, sitting up. Grandfather gently places his hands on my shoulder, trying to get me to lay back down. "You mustn't strain yourself, Charlotte." I agree to lay back down. My head becomes fuzzy, my vision spinning. Or is it the other way around? Whichever one it is, the lack of blood is taking its toll. What I would give to just be able to fall asleep without knowing I would never wake up.. I feel my eyelids start to close, despite my protests. Have you ever been so tired that it physically hurts to stay awake? This is how I would describe this situation. As my eyes shut, I fight for my life to stay alert. However, I can see white when my eyes close. The vision comes to me clearly; It looks like a white plain, virtually untouched, like freshly fallen snow, but more.. sterile. I'm standing in the center, still in my blood-stained clothes. In the distance, someone walks towards me. A man I do not recognise, but his presence is calming, even comforting. I have a strange feeling that I know him, that he's important in my life. Before you freak out, I know that it's not God. I think it's just someone I'm meant to know. He stops when he reaches me, looking me in the eye. "Your time has not come yet, Charlotte Jones," he says, his voice deep and smooth. "You are not meant to die at this age. We cannot, however, interfere with your father's quest. Therefore, it is impossible for us alone to save you by chance something does happen." I frown, not liking the idea of death as a teen. "There is something you must know, in the case that your father does not return." His next sentence shakes me to my very core, making me question everything I know.

"Your mother is alive."

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**Indy POV**

"Step in the footsteps of the word..." I say to myself. The second challenge looks like some sort of puzzle, with letters on the ground. "The word... The name of the Lord..." I look at the letters, thinking of Char behind me, losing blood quickly. Figure it out, Indy! "The Lord... Jehovah," I finally say. Okay, I have this now. I have to step onto the letters that spell out the name 'Jehovah'. I place my foot on the 'J', only to have it crumble under my feet. I catch myself before I fall down into the dark unknown of the palace. Pulling myself up, I remember that in the Latin alphabet, Jehovah starts with an 'I'. Quickly, I step onto the 'I'. It stays standing. I release a breath. Next, 'E'. I'm still safe. 'H'.. a tile close to it that I touched too crumbles. Close call. Soon, I've passed the second challenge safely.

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**Char POV**

"My mother has been dead for sixteen years," I tell the man. How would he know whether or not Mom is alive? Dad saw her explode before his own eyes! He would know more than whoever this man is. "They switched baskets," he says. Switched baskets? What is he talking about? "_They _have her. She stays away from you and your father to keep you safe." I tilt my head at the man who may be a figment of my imagination. Is he? He probably is. Maybe I'm dreaming. Maybe I'm dead. Wait.. dead? My eyes fly open, destroying the vision I had. I watch it dissolve before my eyes. I'm back in the damp palace, on the stone floor, surrounded by the people who mean the most to me in the world. "Dad!" I exclaim in a whisper. Grandfather is at my side instead, putting his hand underneath my head. "He'll be back soon, sweetheart. You shouldn't speak." I shake my head furiously. "But my m-mother..." I trail off. I'm sure I look like an absolute lunatic, talking about my long 'deceased' mother while I'm struggling with a gunshot wound and my dad is trying to acquire to Holy Grail. But this vision has to mean something. I can't let it go.

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**Indy POV**

The third challenge. It's impossible. How can I jump across this stone chasm? "No, it can't be done.." Donovan and Elsa are following behind me, but I don't care. All I care about is the fact that I failed my daughter. My poor, innocent daughter who I was stupid enough to bring on this trip. If only I had protested more... "Indy!" I hear Marcus yell. "Indy, you must hurry!" I shut my eyes tightly. Char must be getting worse... I either try now and risk failing, or don't try and let my daughter die. I think the choice is an obvious one. "For Char," I whisper. _You must believe... you must believe..._ I bring my foot upwards, preparing to cross the chasm, just like the picture Dad has in his den. My foot falls on something solid. It doesn't seem possible where I am that there's something holding me up, but there is. It must be a camouflaged bridge or something along those lines. I cross carefully, putting one foot in front of the other in a narrow line in order to not cross out of the boundary points on the bridge. When I reach the opening at the end of the bridge, I gather some of the small rocks in my hands. I toss them onto the bridge so Donovan and Elsa will know that there is one. Oh, how I would love it if I could leave them behind, but I can't. They hold my daughter's life in their hands. I shiver at the thought. Pleasing two Nazis could mean the difference between life and death for Char.

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**Char POV**

Is it cold in here? Yeah, it must just be cold. My gunshot wound has nothing to do with it. So I hope. Dad is still not at my side. Instead, Grandfather, Sallah, and Mr. Brody have formed a protective shield around me. It should comfort me, but squinting, I can see the grave expression on their crestfallen faces. It makes me feel as if I'm dying. Maybe I am! How many people do you know who can survive a gunshot wound in the abdomen? Not many can, especially when help is delayed for so long. The hope I had for my own survival is fading into angst for my premature death, which is sure to come soon. There is only one person missing from my deathbed. "I want Dad," I whisper hoarsely, trying, and failing, to raise my voice. Grandfather tucks my hair behind my ear, trying to calm me down. "I swear, he'll be back soon," he replies. I don't tell him that I want Dad to be here so I can see him before I die, but that is the exact reason. However, according to the man I saw in my vision, my time has yet to come. Who knows if it was real or not? Dad needs to know what the man said about Mom. What if I die before I can tell him? "Grandfather..." I croak out. He leans in closer. "Yes?" I regain what little strength I have left and continue to talk. "If I don't make it... tell Dad that... they switched baskets... Mom's alive." My already dim vision starts to leave me, the feeling slipping from my body. My eyes shut for what I'm convinced will be the last time.

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**Indy POV**

I rush out to the front of the palace, Grail in hand. Donovan is dead. Like the knight said, he chose poorly. He'll never hurt my family again. A member of my family is currently on the floor of the palace, losing blood quickly. I continue to repeat in my head that she's just losing blood, not dead. She's come too far to be dead now. When I reach her, I can see Dad, Sallah and Marcus huddled close to her. "Charlotte? Charlotte?!" Dad sounds desperate as he pleads with her. My heart drops in my chest. _Stay positive, stay positive._ I rush to her side, nudging everyone apart. Char's face is drained of color, her body limp. However, he chest still rises and falls slightly, giving me hope. I put my hand on the back of her head and bring the Grail to her lips. Her lips part slightly, but she doesn't swallow. "C'mon, Char. Drink the water." Hesitantly, I pinch her nose, forcing her to drink the blessed water. She finally receives it. I wait, but she doesn't open her eyes. My faith starts to drift away as I stare at my daughter's face, waiting to see those bright blue eyes so full of life and excitement. "Charlotte, please don't leave me," I plead desperately. I can feel everyone's eyes on me, but I don't care. "Please, sweetheart, please wake up." I can feel a burning hot tear fall from my eye. I can't lose her the way I lost my mom, the way I lost Marion. No one, especially not my little girl, deserves to die this way. Suddenly, an idea occurs to me. I pull up her shirt again, revealing the grimance-worthy, bloody gunshot wound. I take off the handkerchief placed there to stop the flow of blood. Tipping the Grail over with trembling fingers, I pour the water on Char's wound. Like magic, the blood starts to wash away and the spot starts to bubble. It's like acid, taking away the evidence of the wound. I pour the rest of the water on her to clear off the blood. With it all cleared off, the spot on her skin looks like it was never even touched. "Dad?" I look up at the sound of the weak voice. Char's eyes are cracked open and looking upwards. I sigh in relief and reach out to support the back of her head with my hand. A feeling like I've never experienced before washes over me; the type of feeling that makes parenting all worth while. "I'm here, Char," I whisper. Her eyes focus on me and she smiles weakly. Suddenly, her eyes get big, like she's afraid of something. "M-Mo-Mom!" she exclaims. I look at her, confused. What could be so urgent about Marion? She's been dead of sixteen years. "What about your mom, honey?" Char looks anxious and stumbles over her words. "The man... he was in my dream.. H-He said th-that she was..." I hear Elsa shout behind me, "I got it!" I spin around, still keeping my hand on Char's back. Elsa is trying to walk over the seal of the castle; the same seal the knight warned us never to pass.

"Elsa! The knight warned us not to pass the seal. Stop!" She doesn't heed my advice. Her feet pass the seal. The building starts to shake violently, like an earthquake has started. Elsa stumbles and drops the Grail on the floor, which is opening up. The two sides of the floor are tilting, making us all slide across it. Char jumps up like she was never shot. Her pain and tiredness is gone, replaced by strength and awareness. She reaches for me and clings onto my waist. "What's happening?!" she asks over the cracking and crashing noises. "Go over with your Grandfather and the others. NOW!" She scrambles away from my body and runs over to the entrance. I see Elsa dive for the Grail, which is now between the cracks of the floor. Suddenly, her footing slips. I immediately slide across the floor to grab her hand. I'm not sure why I'm saving this woman who betrayed me immensely, but I feel the need to. It's the right thing to do. While I try to pull her up by her hand, she reaches for the Grail with the other one. A fixated, almost insane, look is in her twinkling eyes as she just barely touches it. "I can get it!" she shouts. "Elsa, give me your other hand." She doesn't seem to hear me, or maybe she just doesn't want to hear me. "Elsa, honey, I can't hold you up without your other hand!" Her leather glove starts to slip from my hands, sliding down to her fingers. "Elsa!" Her hand slips from my grasp completely. I hold my breath when I hear her scream as she falls into the deep abyss. It's amazing how quickly someone you know can be over. One second they're alive and well, the next, they're gone forever. I stare at the crack in the floor, morbidly wondering where it leads. I'm sad she's gone, but not devastated. After all, she did use me, and she's no Marion.

"Junior!" Dad yells. I whip my head around. Everyone is standing at the entrance, waiting for me. The walls and top of the palace is already crumbling in on us. If we don't get out soon, there's no doubt we're dead. I stand up and try to steady myself. The floor is shaking violently now. This palace is history in.. say, 3 minutes. I run over to the entrance to join the others. Char grabs on to my side as soon as I reach her, rushing me to go faster. A column falls over behind us and hits the floor, blocking the entrance way. This palace will never be disturbed again. The dust flies at us as we flee, choking us and hurting our vision. I push Char ahead of me so she can get out faster in her condition. When we all finally rush out, the bright, intense desert sun greets us. It's a welcome relief from the dusty palace. My breathing is still hard from the dust in my lungs, as is everyone else's. Dad comes up to me and claps me on the back. "Well done.." he breathes out. I turn to him and smile. I don't usually smile at Dad, but I'm greatful for him staying by Char's side while she was nursing a gunshot wound. I could see the concern he had for her in his voice and his eyes. He was worried he was going to lose his only grandchild. I put my hand on his shoulder, part as a return of affection and part to hold my tired body up. "Thanks for being there.. for Char." Just as I say that, Char comes bouncing up to us. The excitement in her expression is obvious. She launches herself at me and wraps her arms around my neck. "We're alive! We did it! It's finally over!" I laugh, patting her back and petting her hair. "You signed up to be a part of this, Kiddo," I remind her softly. She pulls away and looks at me. "Doesn't mean I had to like it."

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**A/N: I just HAD to throw in the Temple of Doom reference. Just to be clear... ******I AM NOT DONE WITH THIS STORY IN THE LEAST*******  Just because the events of the Last Crusade is done, does not mean Indy and Char's adventure is done. So many questions left unanswered; what about Char's involvement in all of this? What about the man's warning about Marion? Which familiar character(s) am I bringing in later (you can guess in the comments)? These ALL shall be answered later!**


	8. Chapter 8

**A/N: The adventure continues for Indy and Char! Like I said, just because the Holy Grail is out of the way does not mean this is over. Nope, not in the least. As always, thank you SO MUCH for favoriting, following, and reviewing. Indy fans are just awesome in general, aren't they?**

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The chilly air nips at the uncovered skin on my face, causing my cheeks to turn a fiery red despite the low temperature. Early winter in Chicago; not very pleasant for someone who thrives in the dry heat of Cairo. It's been a few months since the quest for the Grail. Our lives have gone back to normal, or at least as normal as it was before our little adventure. As Dad taught me when I was young, I will never be 'normal' by any standards. Besides the feeling of being watched, which I'm sure is just paranoia, the only thing that has bothered me since the adventure is the vision I had. The vision where a man told me Mom was alive. I sat down with Dad a few days after we returned and laid it all down on the table, from the man who I feel I should know to the cryptic message he brought me. As I suspected he would, he listened intently and let me state my theories, fears, confusion, and my gut instincts. When someone has been dead all of your life, you come to accept the fact that you will never see them again. This threw that idea all away for me. After I was done ranting, he placed a gentle hand on my shoulder, saying softly, "Maybe it was from the near-death experience. You thought of someone who had been dead." When I told him about the man mentioning a basket switch, Dad became slightly alarmed, letting me catch him off guard for the first time.. well, ever. He shook his head and mumbled something about a coincidence before rushing off for the university to get to his job. We haven't talked about it since.

I push myself forward on my roller skates, loving the feeling I get when I go faster and faster with each push my foot. Belinda is grabbing onto my arm with her skates on, struggling to keep up with me, then giving up and letting me pull us both. This is our afterschool activity; skating in the park together, talking and laughing like idiots the whole time. "Geez, don't you ever take a break?" she asks jokingly. I laugh and respond, "Now when do I _ever_ take a break, Lindy?" She pretends to consider this for a minute. "Hmmm.. whenever we're both working on a science project and you decide to 'supervise'." I scoff, remembering that time when I just couldn't figure out how to put together the project Belinda and I were assigned together. I sat back as she worked on it, claiming I was 'supervising' her work to make sure she didn't mess up on our project or our grade. In my defense, if I had so much as touched it, we could say goodbye to that 'A'. "Are you _ever_ going to let that go?" I ask. She shakes her head at me, a smirk playing on her lips. "Now when do I _ever_ let anything go, Char?" I chuckle, bringing my skates inwards, pointed down to stop them from continuing on. We park ourselves at a bench near Belinda's house, her stop for the day. "See ya, Lindy," I say sadly. She smiles. "See ya too, Char. Say 'hi' to your dad for me, okay?" I nod, watching as she vanishes into the orange grooves surrounding her apartment complex. We haven't had much time together since we walked into Dad's office that day that started it all.

I sigh, getting up from the bench and steadying myself when my wheels hit the pavement so I don't fall flat on my face. Just like always, my feet mold back into the skates I've been using my whole life. I start to push back with my foot again, continuing like I never stopped. The wind pushes back against me, cold and hard. I push back, trying to compete against an unstoppable, invisible force. Does my competitiveness have no limits? What will I challenge next? The sun? The feeling skating gives me is matched by no other. I feel free, alive and useful. As I go faster, I feel the world around me fade away, as if I'm the only one around the park. Skating time is reflecting time for me. I think about everything, ponder little, unimportant things and talk to no one. For the hundredth time in the past few months, my thoughts drift to Mom. I wish I knew her. Maybe if I did, the man's words would make more sense to me. I wonder what it would be like to know her. Was she just like Dad tells me? Was she beautiful, wonderful, and spunky? My thoughts are cut off when I collide with a warm, solid body in front of me. In a haze of panic, I grab onto whatever is there to support me, which just so happens to be the man's arm. Remembering the last time I fell, I stick my knees out and lean forward to keep from injuring myself. We both go down as I do this, but my method keeps me safe, unlike his. "Hey! Watch it!" whoever I ran into snaps at me. Petty anger builds inside me at his impatience. "I wasn't the only one who needs to pay attention to where they're going," I retort, looking up as I do. The man -no, the boy- looks up at the same time I do. When our eyes meet, I can slowly see the hardness in his deep brown ones melt away, replaced with fascination. It seems as though _my _eyes did this to him. I nearly scoff at the thought. My eyes are nothing special; they look better on Dad and Grandfather. He breaks his gaze and pulls back, coughing awkwardly. "I'm, um, I'm sorry, miss," he apologizes bashfully. I could tell by the way he talked to me earlier that he isn't the type to give out apologies. I stare at him curiously. What about my eyes made his anger dissolve? "It's fine, and don't call me 'miss', please." I say it as politely as possible, but I'm sure that there was a dash of rudeness in it. He extends a hand to me. "Mind if I help you up?" he asks. At first, I simply look at his hand. Being helped up by a boy who I knocked down? It seems like a far-fetched idea. Does he have something else up his sleeve? Geez, the Grail made me paranoid. When he puts his hand out a little bit more to further his point, I see no point in arguing, so I take it and pull myself up from the ground. When I'm up, I examine the boy a little more. I know I said he was a boy, but he could easily be older than me, maybe even twenty. He has dark brown, slicked back hair and eyes that match. He has on a leather jacket, white shirt and dark jeans. I'm surprised at how his image comes close to mine; leather jacket, dark pants. In turn, I see his eyes go up and down my body, looking at my features as I did his. It's not a creepy stare, nor does it make me uncomfortable. He's just taking in my features. When he's done, he sticks his hand out.

"My name's Mutt, and it's nice to meet ya, Miss..." He waits for an answer. "Nice to meet you, Mutt. My name's Charlotte, but everyone just calls me Char," I answer. That's a lie; only people I trust have gained the right to call me Char, a nickname Dad branded me with that I willingly took. Even Mom didn't live to hear my nickname. Something about Mutt makes me fine with telling him. He grins mischievously to match the mischievous gleam in his eyes as he shakes my hand. "Got a last name, Char?" he asks. I tilt my head, staring at him like I don't trust him, but the truth is, I'm more amused than concerned. I think I should be, though. "What about you, Mutt?" He lets go of my hand and cocks his head. "Tell ya what, doll. How about a trade-off? Last name for last name?" I nod, grinning at his plan and his slang. He's a likeable guy so far. "On three, 'kay?" he asks. I nod again. "One, two, three...Williams." "Jones," I answer at the same time. He smiles, a bright, white smile that lights up his whole face. I wish my smile was as striking as his. "Char Jones... Where have I heard that before?" I shrug. I think I would remember if I met someone named 'Mutt'. Then again, my father's name is 'Indiana', so who am I to judge... He snaps his fingers together, signaling that he knows who I am. "You're Indy's girl, right? Y'know, Henry Jones Jr?" I stare at him in shock, wondering how the heck he knows my dad. Well, a lot of people do, but the way he's talking about him, he seems to be a family friend. How else would he know Dad has me, and why else would he be named after Dad? "That's right. I'm his daughter, but how'd you know that?" I ask, dumbfounded. He grins cockily, like he knew I would be confused. I don't mind the arrogance. I'm surprised that Dad hasn't trademarked that smirk yet. "Colin William's my old man. My folks named me after him. They're always sayin' that he's one of the best friends they've ever had. I already know he lives around here. I'm here on account of Ox." I smile on instinct at the thought of Ox. Dear Harold Oxley, our completely lovable friend. I'm not sure how it's possible to be wise beyond measure yet clueless to most things around you at the same time, but Ox pulls it off. He's boring, but in a good way, if that makes any sense. His voice put me to sleep when I was a hyper toddler and his patience came in handy when I would want to play with him for hours on end. He comes to visit us from his home in London often. Dad says he has ever since Mom died. That makes sense, too, since I can't remember a time in my life when I didn't know Ox. When I asked him why he visits so often, he simply shook his head and told me, "My dearest child, no matter how sure your father may seem of himself and his skill set, child rearing is no easy task to be done, especially by one very scared, very lonely man." At the time, I had no idea what he meant by it. After growing up and seeing how much Dad tried to shelter me and how much he worried when I hit a new milestone in my life, I understood what Ox had been trying to tell me. Dad's just as scared as he was when I was born.

"What about him?" I ask, the smile still plastered on my face. Mutt's smirk and happy expression fall slowly, replaced with a frown and sadness. I stare at him curiously, waiting for his response. "Ox..." He gulps, scratching the back of his neck. "I just.. I-I need to talk to your old man," he gets out, looking rushed and impatient. I've known him for ten minutes and I can already see how he acts like his namesake. Without a word, I pull a pair of roller skates our of my backpack and show them to him. It's a pair that I carry around just in case Dad wants to skate with me, which is not often. I hand them to him wordlessly and sit down. He gets the message and starts to put on the skates. "I don't know how to do this, babe," he warns. The little nickname gets my attention more than anything else. The last boy who called me 'babe' lived to regret it. I look up at him, giving him my best 'death stare', as Dad calls it. "First of all, never, _ever_ call me 'babe' unless you want to wake up tomorrow morning in Cairo, alone and surrounded by Asps. Second, just keep your hands on my waist and stay as steady as possible. You'll have to do almost no work besides keeping a good grip on me." Mutt smiles discretely, almost small enough that you wouldn't catch it, but I do. I roll my eyes. Boys; I could definitely live without them around to make it more complicated.

"So this how you get around?" he asks me as we as we skate down the sidewalk. "Yep. How about you?" I ask. I dodge a fire hydrant as I wait for his answer. "I'm the biker type, no doubt." Biker? I've picked up quite a boy, haven't I? "Wow. I think my dad would kill me if I even dared to ride one once," I respond, speeding up my pace when I feel Mutt's catching on to how to ride skates. "Is your old man strict?" he asks. I actually have to think about that before I answer. Is he? I always thought he was a relaxed Dad. Finally, I shrug. "No. He's just really... attached. I'm not allowed to do that many things that he deems 'dangerous'." I know Dad's concerned about my well-being, as he always has been, but these past few months are getting ridiculous. It's like he thinks I'll go out and get shot again. With Grandfather around much more than usual, he actually has an excuse to not leave me alone or let me wander around as much. It's beyond frustrating. "My mom's pretty angry about the bike. She wants me to sell it. No way in hell I'm getting rid of my baby." He refers to his bike as his _baby_... I wonder if he'll ever get a girl that he'll treat the same way.

I brake slowly for the beginner behind me when we reach my house. He grips my waist a little tighter when we stop so he won't slam into me. I don't mind, but he _better_ not be enjoying it. "Well, here we are," I announce. "Home, sweet, home." Our home isn't small, but it's no mansion. It's the _inside_ that I'm mildly ashamed of. Dad, being an archaeologist, has his stuff lining every open space that isn't occupied by photos of us and Mom. Don't get me wrong, it's not tacky, but it gets embarrassing when people see an... umm... _interesting_ piece and ask about it in either fascination or horror. I take my skates off at the door and motion for Mutt to do the same. He does, following me in setting them down by the door. I walk in first, shouting, "Dad! I'm home!" as soon as I hit the entrance of our house. "C'mon over here, Char!" he yells back. I turn over to Mutt, who's looking over our house. I can tell that the look is more curiosity than anything. Thank God. "Coming!" Without warning, I grab Mutt's arm and drag him with me to Dad's study. He puts up little protest, even though I'm gripping him tightly. "We have a guest," I say as we enter the study. Dad looks up from his paper work, probably expecting the usual visitor like Grandfather or Mr. Brody. When he sees Mutt, his face goes blank, like he doesn't know how to react. Mutt sticks his hand out rather reluctantly. "Hello, Dr. Jones. My name is Henry Williams. I'm Colin William's son." Any sign on Dad's face that made him seem hostile ceases when Mutt says this. Dad and Colin go way back. Even though they haven't seen each other in a while, they're still great friends. Dad shakes Mutt's hand. "It's great to finally meet Colin's boy. How is Col, anyway?" I know something's wrong when Mutt looks down at his feet, refusing to meet Dad's eyes. "Dead, sir." I gasp in spite of myself. The words are the last thing I ever expected to hear. Colin's _dead_? He was such a sweet, friendly man. Everyone loved him, including Dad and I. Dad looks unsure of what to say to Mutt. What do you say to someone who lost a parent? Even though we lost Mom, I can't imagine losing someone who actually raised me. "I... I'm so sorry. Colin was a good man," Dad consoles uncomfortably. Mutt nods tersely. "Yeah, he sure was. He always said you were one of his best friends. That's why I'm here."

"What can I do for you?" Dad asks. Mutt doesn't respond. Instead, he reaches into his pocket and pulls out a folded up picture. When Dad takes it and unfolds it, turning it back over, I can see who it is; Ox. "Harold Oxley," Dad says slowly. He examines the picture carefully, as if to see if there is anything interesting or suspicious about it that made Mutt want to show him the photo. "What about him?" he asks, much like I did earlier. Mutt sighs heavily. It doesn't take a genius to see he's been under great stress and pressure recently. "Ox is missing. We think it has something to do with Nazis, or somethin' like that. Pops was shot down in the war, now right when Ox finally gets on the scent of something big, the Nazis get him before he can get his hands on it. It's all just..." He pauses, rubbing his temples in frustration. Dad seems sympathetic towards the boy he just met. After all, it's the son of his deceased friend. News of Ox's disappearance, however, hits me like a cannonball to the stomach. Colin's dead, and now we find out that Ox is missing? It's all so much to digest. Don't get me wrong; I loved Col, but Ox was always like my second father. His visits were the highlight of my month, always bringing out the best of me on my worst days. The hate I feel for the vile Nazis still lingers from my own experience almost dying at their hands. Now they have _Ox_. "I can't believe it..." I mumble. Dad's hand automatically flies up to rest on my shoulder comfortingly. No amount of comfort can make me feel better right now. "What was Ox on the scent of, as you say?" Dad asks. Mutt hesitates, looking around like there might be someone else listening besides us. He tells us in a lowered voice, "The golden crown of Queen Mary." Dad sits straight up in his chair, almost knocking himself over in the process. I've never seen him so shocked. "Was the old man _insane_?!" Dad exclaims in a whisper. "We don't even know if that exists! The risks are higher than they even are to find the Holy Grail." He exchanges a knowing look with me. Trust me, I know the effects of having gone after the Holy Grail. But, what is this crown they're talking about? "The what?" I ask ignorantly. Dad stares at me as if I haven't been paying attention to anything he's said for the past sixteen years. "It's only one of the most powerful artifacts in the world... Well, if it actually does exist like Ox must think." I stare at him, still not knowing what to say. The Holy Grail makes sense to me; it gives everlasting life. The Ark of the Covenant; gives you a direct portal to God, which Mom and dad witnessed first-hand was _not_ a good thing. What the heck does a golden crown do that is more powerful than the freakin' HOLY GRAIL?!

"What does it supposedly do?" I ask. Dad and Mutt look at each other presciently, almost waiting for the other to answer me. Dad finally sighs and looks me straight in the eyes, keeping a stone cold expression on his face as he says,

"It makes you do whatever the wearer tells you to."

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**A/N: I, Brilliant Brunette Beauty (or Yogie, as I am more commonly known), solemnly swear that this will not be like Kingdom of the Crystal Skull. Now, don't hate me, but... I didn't think the 4th movie was that bad! Okay, it wasn't as good as the others, but it didn't suck like everyone says. There was no defining factor that told me, 'This is a bad movie'. The acting was good, the storyline was pretty good and the aliens reflected the sy-fy obsession of the 50s (when the movie is set), and the action was still awesome. However, this is no Crystal Skull ripoff. Also, I'm having some trouble. Do you guys want Mutt to be related to Indy and Char or not? Trust me, if he were, I would find a way to explain it in a good way that wouldn't outrage you. So, please VOTE:**

**Should Mutt be...**

**a) unrelated to them totally**

**b) related to one of them**

**c) related to both of them**


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: So, I only have TWO votes so far (thank you Bulldog95 and Deanykins!). Guys, if you have a preference on whether or not Mutt should be part of the family like he was in the movie, just review! I want YOUR opinion. I'll admit, this story was for me at first, but then I got up the courage to post it and it became for more than just me. Do as you will (total 'Raiders' reference INTENDED).**

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After about an hour of pacing, hushed voices and explanations, this is the paraphrased version of what I have found out about the golden crown of Queen Mary from Dad and Mutt;

According to the legend, British explorers landed in South America on the command of King Phillip, Queen Mary's rather cruel husband. One man separated from his group and stumbled across a chamber deep in the Mayan ruins near the Amazon rainforest. There, sitting on a podium, was a single golden crown, lined with emeralds and shiny as new. It was too beautiful and hypnotizing for the explorer to ignore, so he snatched it up and brought it back to England with him. Being so beautiful and regal, he presented it to Queen Mary. It was fairly early on in her reign as queen, and she was as enchanted with its beauty as the man was. Soon, she insisted on wearing it always. She was never seen without out. It was branded 'The Golden Crown of Queen Mary'. However, she started to change the more she wore it. No longer was she the woman everyone knew as 'moderate'. Queen Mary turned vicious, showing mercy to no one and giving out constant demands. That was not the only thing that scared people, though. What scared them was the fact that they couldn't _not_ follow her requests. If they tried to stop themselves, they would be afflicted with a searing headache and stomach pains. Eventually, people learned to follow what she said, not matter what. Rumors spread that failure to comply for too long would cause eventual death. People stopped challenging Queen Mary, and resistance grew weak (I think this is the portion of the story in which Mutt called her a 'badass'). What happened next... Well, 'Bloody Mary' is what happened next. And the rest is history. According to legend, she hid the crown somewhere when she neared death, as she didn't want anyone to be able to possess something so beautiful if she no longer could.

"Wow.." I exhale after they finish the story. Mutt nods. "Yeah, 'wow' is right." Dad's just sitting at the table, his head in his hands as he ruminates on the thought of the crown. "What do we do now?" I ask pathetically. No matter how proud I am, I'll admit that I really have no idea where to turn from here. Like always, I rely on Dad's wisdom on all things archaic and travel related to take us from this point. He looks up from the ground. "What else is there to do besides go to London to see if we can somehow trace Ox?" When I hear the word 'we', I perk up immediately. Finally, after what seems like forever, Dad is no longer sheltering me from the dangers I'm sure to face as a Jones. After all, what are the odds that we'll encounter another situation like the Grail? "No, Char," he says before I can even get a word in. My heart sinks. I can't weasel my way into this one, not after the almost-tradgedy that occurred last time. "Dad..." I start. "I'm not taking that chance, not again!" he exclaims. I shrink back in my chair, knowing he will remain intransigent. Mutt takes this as his cue to speak. "Apparently, and don't kill me or nothin', we're supposed to bring her with us." Dad raises his eyebrows, while I silently thank Mutt for his timing. "I told Ma that it was probably too dicey to bring along the deb," He shoots me an apologetic look, "but she lost her cool and made me promise to tell you." Dad nods, looking slightly perplexed at his word choice. He still hasn't gotten used to the 'greaser' fad that will soon be upon us, if it isn't already. I guess some would call me a greaser by the way I dress, but I call it 'tomboy'. "What do ya say, Dad? There has to be a good reason why I need to go with you all," I argue. Dad looks over at me, his eyes showing his inner conflict. Either bring me along like Ms. Williams apparently ordered, or leave me here with someone like Grandfather so I'll be safe. "Are you sure it's needed?" Dad asks Mutt. I keep my fingers crossed for an answer I want. "Well, I know my ma. She wouldn't want Char to come along just for kicks." Dad sighs in frustration, me in relief. I may be crazy for wanting to follow Dad on another adventure after what happened, but the past is in the past, right? I want, no _need_, adventure and excitement in my life to keep me running. "Fine, you're coming along, Char." I smirk happily. Success! "Same conditions as last time, though," he warns. I laugh as I remember the lecture about 'doing what I say, when I say'. Good one, Dad. "Dad, I broke those conditions within the first hour of being in Venice," I point out. Dad shrugs indifferently. "It just makes me feel a little bit better. I know you're going to break them; you're a Jones."

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"Here we are!" Mutt announces as we enter the apartment complex previously inhabited by Harold Oxley. It brings me back to the day we examined Grandfather's home for clues on his disappearance. If this is how our mission starts out, it can't be good. In typical Ox manner, everything in in proper order and placement, not a single book out-of-place. It was much easier when Grandfather's house was ransacked. At least then we knew they were looking for something. Now we have no idea where to look. Dad, however, seems occupied and much more productive than Mutt or me. We stand there, looking at the orderly house in a panic while Dad starts to snoop. "What exactly are we _supposed_ to find?" I ask stupidly. "I'm kinda lost here." "Ditto," Mutt adds. Dad waves us off, not paying any attention to our efforts. "Anything history or archaeology related would help. Remember, whoever came here wanted to know how to get the crown as much as Ox." I tremble at the thought. These Nazis are really getting desperate, aren't they? I look around the room until my eyes settle on a bookshelf by the fireplace. I kneel by it, prepared to skim thought the titles to see if anything pops out. Even seeing all of the muted, old books intimidates me. There's so many books. Too many. Mutt puts his hand on my shoulder before I can continue. "I got this, doll-face." Once again, a scowl reappears on my face at the stupid nickname. Smirking, I lean in close to his ear and breathe, "Cairo.. Asps... I wasn't joking. Keep one eye open tonight, greaser." I feel him stiffen, and take that as my cue to.. how he would probably say, 'bug out'. I waltz over to the extra room next door to Ox's bedroom. It's very simple. Just two beds, a night stand, a dresser, and a bookshelf. This is where I would stay with Dad on the rare occasion that we visited. Nostalgia washes over me; what a nice feeling. The bookshelf, full of children's books, captures my attention. I know I'll probably find nothing but memories, but what the heck. Skimming the titles, I nod and smile at each I remember Ox reading to me. Wizard of Oz, Peter Rabbit, and Peter Pan all make me grin. However, my favorites were always the Nancy Drew books. I thought she was so adventuress and brave. I wanted to be her. For most of my childhood, Dad would often play a game with me where he hid clues everywhere and made me find them to solve a mystery he had made up. Something compels me to pick the book up and flip through the familiar pages. It's my favorite book in the series; the first. A small piece of paper drifts out of a page, falling on the ground. I pick it up curiously, examining it. I unfold the small paper and read what's written on it;

_Dearest M,_

_I believe I have successfully tracked the designation. It's been far too long to continue the charade, my friend._

_Someone must tell Indiana._

I gasp, holding the paper tightly in my hand. I know Ox's handwriting when I see it, and it's obvious he wrote this letter by the way he speaks. Someone must tell Dad _what_? And who is 'M'? Rushing, I grab all the Nancy Drew books off the shelf and let them fall on the floor. One at a time, I open them, holding the book upside down by the spine so any note will fall out. No such luck with any so far. Finally, I pick up the last book and shake it out. Another piece of paper drifts onto the ground. I pick it up carefully, making sure not to rip it. I open it up like the last and read;

_O,_

_No, we can not drag Indy into this. He has Charlotte to worry about. Both will get hurt if we do. You know if I could, I would tell him._

_Please, burn or hide any evidence of our correspondence and make sure that the directions to the 'treasure' is kept from their hands._

I put all the books back in case someone decides to make a second visit to Ox's apartment. Then, I pick up both notes and rush out of the room hurriedly, excited to show Dad what I found. "Dad! Mutt! I found something." Within seconds, both drop whatever they're doing and are by my side. By the way they seemed so willing to abandon what they were working on, I can guess they had no luck. When I hold the notes up, Dad holds his hand out. Cautiously, I place both notes in his palm with so much care, like it's a delicate flower. He looks at them with expert fingers. I keep on forgetting that he won't break or tear anything like I think he will; he's been doing this much longer than I have. I watch anxiously as his eyes skim the two papers, waiting for some kind of reaction like I had. When he's done, he looks at me questioningly. "Where did you find these?" he asks. "The Nancy Drew books," I answer. He looks confused as to why the notes were hidden in children's books, but he continues to talk. "So, by these notes, we can conclude that he has found something, but let's not assume it's the crown just yet. It could be anything. He also wanted to tell me something, but whoever this 'M' is advised against it for my sake and your's. We also have to find directions to whatever 'treasure' was being discussed. Let's hope it's the crown." Dad doesn't seem too happy that this 'M' person knows who I am, but them saying they didn't want me to get hurt should be a clue that they're friends. That and the fact that he or she referred to Dad as 'Indy'. His colleagues call him Henry, acquaintances call him Indiana, enemies call him Jones, but only friends call him Indy. "One question," Mutt starts. "Who is this 'M'?" Dad and I look at each other for a moment. Who could M be? We both turn back to Mutt and shrug. "It could be Marcus Brody," Dad suggests. I laugh out loud at the thought. Marcus Brody? Like I've said before, I love the man to death, but he's not capable of these things. "Lost in his own museum, Dad." He scowls at me, giving his usual 'mind you manners' look. Most parents yell at you using your full name. Dad? He just gives me that look.

"It's already 6:00," Mutt points out. "We have this note to figure out already, too. I say we cool off and go check into the hotel. We can think about this and maybe if we put our heads together, we'll figure out who 'M' is." I stare at Mutt in shock. I think he actually used all real words this time. No slang. "Wow, you actually talked like a normal human being," I point out. He narrows his eyes curiously. "Is that such a surprise, dolly?" he asks. I sigh in frustration. "We need to talk about these nicknames!" He chuckles and throws an arm around my shoulder as we follow Dad out the door. Mutt turns to me right before we exit the building. "I really talked like a square?" he asks. I roll my eyes. "Well, not anymore, sadly." He smiles in triumph, letting the subject drop.

Half way into the walk, the lack of noise reminds me why we kept to the side of England that we did. With the war raging through Europe, a select few parts of England remain untouched by the bombing and mayhem surrounding cities like London. Dad says that the war will probably be over soon, though. I'm not sure if I believe him. I sure know Mutt wouldn't believe him after what happened to Colin. "Where's the hotel?" I ask Mutt. He looks at me, shocked, like he forgot I was here. How can that be when his arm is wrapped around me? "Not that far," he answers shortly. I nod and continue to follow Dad. Looking to the side, I decide to play 'I spy' with myself for the 20th time since we left Ox's apartment. All I see are sewers, depressed looking people, mothers obviously mourning the loss of their sons, and young women wearing black, carrying around a picture of young men I assume are their husbands. War does horrors to a society. I can only hope that Dad was correct about it ending soon. Amidst all the sadness, though, I spot a man in a black jacket. He's moving through the crowds quickly and swiftly. I know he's just a guy going about his business, but I feel like something about him is off... "Wha-" I hear Mutt begin. When I turn around, I see Dad has him by the arm and me by mine. He urgently pulls us into an alley way near an apartment building. "What's this about, man?" Mutt asks in a whisper, catching on to the fact that we shouldn't be heard. Dad puts his finger to his lips and turns over to look back at the street. I follow his gaze to the man I thought was suspicious; the man in the black jacket. Dad turns back over to us, ushering us further into the alley. "That guy has been following us ever since we left Ox's place. We can safely assume he's _not_ our friend." Mutt peeks out at the street skillfully. The man is now sitting on the steps of a building, pretending to read a newspaper. He's probably waiting for us. "How do we lose him?" I ask Dad. He just smiles. Not his normal smile. It's his 'I've totally messed up' smile. I have all his smiles down pat. "I have no idea." Mutt and I groan at the same time. We give each other a little smile afterward. If we were in a different situation, I would have high-fived him instead. "We can't stay in here all day," I point out. "We'll find some way out of this," Dad says calmly. I nod absent-mindedly, puttering around the dark, wet alley. I can hear various cats hiss as I walk down the alley way, mixed in with the occasional drip of water from a gutter. The darkness forms shadows against the wall. If I didn't know better, I'd say that the shadows at the end of the alley were moving. In fact, I think they are. It's dark, but how can those dark figures be shadows? I turn back around quickly.

"Dad-" I begin, but I'm cut off by something black going over my head. Breathing gets harder, along with my ability to make noise. "Get off me! Dad! Mutt! SOMEONE!" My screams are muffled by whatever is over my head while I feel two strong arms wrap around my waist and pick me up. Faintly, I can hear a struggle. It must be Dad and Mutt trying to escape their captors. Panic sets in when I realize we're all being taken. They're going to try to extract information out of us. Dad has the notes! What if they search him and then find it? Is out mission done before it even began? I feel my captor throw me over his shoulder like I'm a feather. I scream untill my throat is raw, calling out for Dad. Please let me be the only one getting kidnapped... Please let Dad and Mutt be alright.

I feel my body being flung into a large space, landing on a hard surface with a thud. My breathing is heavy, my thoughts racing. I hear another muffled voice next to me. Then another. My heart sinks; they have Dad and Mutt too. Even though it was a foolish thought, I hoped that maybe they would leave without me. I'd rather them be safe than all of us be in danger. With no vision, I rely on my hearing to help me. I hear a slam. I know that sound. A car door! So we're in a car. We're probably being transported somewhere. I hear the car engine start with a roar. The bumpiness of the road bounces me around as the car starts to drive down the street. Then I realize from this point on, I'm useless. I know we're in a car, being driven somewhere, but I know nothing else. Nothing else can be determined through my other senses. Feeling unresourceful, I lay my back against the car, bringing me knees to my chest. Suddenly, I feel a hand touch my neck. I jump in panic, but then another hand flies to rest on my check comfortingly. I sigh when I realize that I know that touch; it's Dad. Within seconds, the bag is off of my head and I breathe in deeply. Dad's facing me, his finger on his lips to make sure we're not given away. Mutt is behind him with his bag off too. He mouths the words, 'You okay?'. I nod silently. I look around us. We're in the back of a rather large car, alone. Whoever took us must be in the front seat. I look at Dad, silently questioning him on our next move. His hand goes down to his waistline slowly. He then pulls his jacket up slightly, revealing his gun. Of course! He never goes anywhere without it. I'm afraid that we won't get the chance to use it, though. I scoot in closer to Dad, still terrified. He puts his arms around me and lets me rest my head on his chest. The message is clear; We'll get out of this. We always do, right? Well, usually...

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**A/N: I looked up 50s slang in order to write Mutt correctly. BE HAPPY!**


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: Big shout outs to smkelover (Awwww... thanks!), Bulldog95 (Y'know, I'm starting to think that just partial relation would be hard to do since him being related to Indy would automatically make him related to Char. And 'M' certainly is a mysterious character, isn't he/she? Read on to find out the importance, my friend...), Deanykins (Hahaha, they love to annoy each other! It reminds me of Han Solo and Princess Leia, if you've ever seen Star Wars. They could be cute!), Captain Shamrock (Don't worry, I will!), and almp15 (All will be revealed in good time, my friend). Thank you for the reviews! They warm my heart :).**

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The car comes to a screeching halt and we all fly forward. Dad grabs my shoulders, steadies me and then grabs the bag that was covering my head earlier. His eyes look apologetic as he places the black bag back over my head. Is he crazy?! I wiggle and squirm, resisting his attempts, but Dad makes sure it goes on just like last time. "You know I hate to do this," he whispers in my covered ear. "But if you don't stay still and keep quiet, the whole thing's going to be shot." By the way his voice falters slightly and the end of the sentence, I can tell it must mean something to him. I'm not sure what, but I'm not that concerned about that right now. I'm more concerned about how to get the heck out of here. Suddenly, I hear the door open and I feel the light seeping through the bag over my head. A hand grabs my arm and pulls me forward harshly. I stumble out of the car clumsily, grabbing onto the edge of the door frame to keep myself up. When I stand up straight, someone has my arm again. Against my will, I'm being dragged away from the car. Instead of fighting back, I remember Dad's words; '_..the whole thing's going to be shot_'. I won't blow this for us. For once in life, I have to stop fighting. I behave like a good girl as they take me away. Must resist the urge to attempt an escape... I feel them hurl me onto a chair harshly, but I'm not complaining here. Before I can react, the bag flies off my head. I take a deep, shaky breath in as I take in my surroundings. I'm in a dimly lit room, at least three men in uniform staring at me. Dad is in a chair on one side of me, Mutt on the other. They're both looking at me. Was I the last to get here? "Welcome back, Joneses and..." The soldier addressing us pauses. "...others." "Likewise," Mutt spits at him. Unfazed, the Nazi continues. "We told you we would get you and the girl. The boy here is just a plus." Dad narrows his eyes at the man. Suddenly, it seems like a very familiar scene. Just a few months ago, Dad was tied to a chair, arguing with a Nazi over me. "She's sixteen. How could she possibly help you?" Nazi stooge #2 shakes his head. "How have you not figured it out yet? She's the answer to this all. She may not know it, but she is." Again, I'm frustrated. No one will tell me what importance I am to the Nazis and I have absolutely no idea where to begin guessing. "Just spit it out!" I demand with venom in my voice. "I won't give you anything untill I know!" Stooge #3 leans down in front of my face, leaning in much too closely. "You're the key to the crown, my dear."

I lean back in my chair, part in an attempt to get away from his gaze and part to think about what he just told me. He's messing with me. If I were the key to the crown, Ox would have known and gotten to me before these idiots. However, there is little other explanation for why they seem so obsessed with capturing me besides them wanting to get to Dad, but we've gone way past that point. "Start talking, all of you." The three of us look at each other. I'm trying to signal to them that we should all keep quiet, but the look in their eyes tells me they were both on that page anyway. "Let's start with you, Miss Jones," one of the Nazis announces. I freeze, unsure of what to do. I'm not so sure of our escape anymore. Even though they have yet to take Dad's gun, he can't exactly use it when we're surrounded by three soldiers, all of which have guns. "So, Miss Jones," one begins. "What exactly do you know about the crown?" I shrug, playing coy. "Besides the legend of how it came about? Nothing." Nazi #1 smiles, looking at me like I'm lying. Well, I'm not lying _entirely_. Just... _partially_. "Now, now, Miss Jones. Why don't I believe you?" he asks, the sick smile still on his face. I return the smile. "I don't know. I'm telling the truth." He turns away from me, focusing his attention on Dad. "Why are you all even here if you know nothing about the crown, Dr. Jones?" he asks. Dad remains calm and stone-faced. "We came here to find Harold Oxley." Once again, that _is_ true. The Nazi paces around. "What are you not telling us?" Mutt nearly jumps out of his chair. "Look, whether you two dead heads believe us or not, we know about as much as you do. Scratch that, you might actually know where Oxley is!" The soldiers look surprised but not alarmed. After all, it's three against three with guns. No contest there.

"We'll be outside. When you three finally decide to give us some information, just call." They sound so sure of themselves, like they're positive we know more than we've been telling. Besides the note, we know nothing. I'm still surprised we haven't been searched for weapons or evidence of our deception. Before they leave, Nazi #2 turns around to address us. "Oh, and don't even bother to move out of your seats. We know you and your daughter have a reputation for escaping these situations, so we took all the precautions needed to make sure escape is impossible." My heart falls to my feet as he closes the door, which seems to be padlocked. "What now?" I ask pathetically. Dad sighs heavily and shrugs. "I don't know... I guess we'll have to wait untill they come back for more information." Mutt and I stare at him like he's lost it, and I think he has. We don't have anything to give them besides the notes, and no way are we giving those up. "How's that gonna work?" Mutt asks. "Do we have to lie our asses off?" Dad eyes him quizzically, having not heard that expression before. The language barrier between Dad and Mutt is much larger than the one between Mutt and me. "I guess you could say that," Dad responds. "One of us will pretend to break and tell them that we have reason to believe the crown has already been found by Ox." I nearly fall out of my chair in shock. I thought Dad was on Ox's side! "You're gonna get Ox killed!" I hiss at Dad. He looks at me remorsefully. I can see in his eyes that he feels trapped. We have little choice here, but over my dead body will I give Ox up to those scumbags. We all know Ox doesn't know much. "We don't have any other option, Char. I'm sorry." "No!" I exclaim. "I won't do it!" Dad gives me a stern look and lowers his voice. "Charlotte Desmona Jones, I'm trying to get you out of this. You _will_ do as I say and we'll try to help Ox after we escape." Mutt looks at us helplessly as we bicker. "Ox is our friend. What if they have him and decide to torture him because of what we say? Besides, they'd never believe _you_ would break." Dad looks at Mutt expectantly. "What do you say, Mutt? Will you be the weak one?" Mutt's eyes go wide when he realizes he must pick a side. "Dad!" I exclaim in anger. "Don't do it Mutt!" I know it's harsh of us to make Mutt chose between us, but I don't care. I'll do anything to spare Ox. "I don't know, man. What if they do have Ox?" I smirk in victory. _Take that, Dad_. "In that case," Dad begins slowly. "we'll have to get him out after they relocate us." My smirk fades when I see Mutt's face change to one of content. "What if they don't relocate us?" I ask quickly, still trying to win this argument. This time, it's Dad who smirks. "I've done this enough to know that after they extract the information they want, they relocate their hostages." I look away in anger and embarrassment. I feel like it's me against the world right now. I can't remember the last time Dad and I weren't on the same side.

"I still won't do it," I mumble bitterly. "And you don't have to," Dad snaps coldly, his tone surprising me. "Mutt does." I still refuse to face them, but I hear Mutt say, "Sure thing." I know I'm probably being childish right now, but hearing Dad take that tone with me stung more than anything else. He's never talked to me like that, ever. In retrospect, we've never had a fight like that, either. He sounded like he was fed up with me and thought I was a burden. I'm reading too much into it, aren't I? That's what it felt like, though. I've always been secretly afraid I was a burden to Dad. He was still so young when he and Mom had me. After Mom died, he had to drop so much to take care of me. I took away his freedom and made him give up the lifestyle he loved so much. Am I a burden? I hear the door open and whip my head over to it. Nazis 1 through 3 walk in the door with an extra one behind them. _'This is great...'_ I think. _'Just great...'_ I feel like I'm sending Ox to his death. Okay, so maybe that's a little extreme. I feel like I'm sending him to be tortured. "So, have you three decided to give us what we want yet?" Dad shakes his head curtly, but I know he's practically asking for them to try to extract it out of him. Sure enough, the soldier smirks and raises his eyebrows. "Oh really? How could we change your mind, Dr. Jones?" Dad remains unflinching. "There is no way you could ever change my mind." I want to yell at him and call him a liar and a traitor, but I hold back. The Nazi's smirk gets bigger and wider. "We know more about you than you think, Dr. Jones. We know you can withstand extreme physical pain. We know you were tortured by the members of the Thugge cult, but refused to break **(A/N: Temple of Doom reference!)**. However, we also know that you cannot stand to see your loved ones in pain. We know how much your daughter means to you. So, what's our obvious course of action, Dr. Jones?" Dad tilts his head, wearing a 'you wouldn't dare' expression. I shut my eyes tightly and shake my head. _Not again_...

Suddenly, I'm being dragged off the chair into someone's arms. A sharp, cold blade is pressed against my throat while an arm is wrapped securely around my waist. "Give us information or we'll kill the girl," the Nazi holding me warns. Dad starts to stand up, but the Nazi presses the blade firmer to my throat. "Talk or she dies!" he barks. I whimper at the feeling of the knife against my skin. "You said she was important to you," Mutt points out. "You wouldn't cut her." The soldier barks out a laugh. "She's no good to us if we don't know where the crown is." Dad's face pales. I realize that it's now or never. I have the opportunity to save Ox's butt and mine. Kill two birds with one stone. "It's being held in Russia," I blurt out suddenly. I have absolutely no idea where that came from, but it just sounds right. What country besides Germany is having tense relations with everyone? The blade begins to withdrawal slightly. I can see Dad glare at me, but I ignore it. "What did you say, girl?" the Nazi asks. I sigh in pretend defeat. "Ox wired us before we came here... He told us he hid something in Saint Basil's Cathedral in Russia. It's underneath the floorboards." It's all a lie, but I'm a good liar. The Nazi seems placated, letting me fall to the floor. I scramble back into the chair quickly, not even glancing at Dad. He's probably seething with rage by now. The soldier who was holding me nods happily. "Very well. Burton, send a message to Krammer saying that we have found the location of the crown." As he speaks, I see the fourth Nazi approach him from behind. His face comes into view briefly. I hold in my gasp when I realize I know who it is. Sallah has come to our rescue. As the other Nazi starts to leave the room, I see a bullet go into his back, coming from Dad's direction. Before the other can react, he's shot in the back by Sallah and falls to the ground. Mutt smiles at me, which I return. As soon as it's safe, Dad turns to me, his eyes narrowed and his expression stone cold. "What the hell were you thinking, Charlotte?" he asks in a slow, deadly voice. "I-I, umm," I stutter, unable to form a solid sentence. "You weren't thinking, that's what you were doing!" I shrink back in my chair, suddenly feeling so small. "I was just-" "I don't want to hear it!" he interrupts. "What would you have done if they wanted more information that you didn't have? What if they didn't believe you? You could have been _killed_, Char." His voice fades as he speaks the last sentence and he lets the fear creep into his eyes. "But so could have Mutt!" I exclaim. "He doesn't know what to say, either!" He shakes his head. "It's no excuse. I'm your father. I know what's best for you!" I scoff, not believing that anyone besides me can determine what's best for me. "I'm a big girl, _Father_. I can make my own decisions." I know I've hit a sore spot with him, but the spiteful part of my mind grumbles 'good'. Dad shuts his eyes tightly in aggrevation. "Next time, just follow my lead." I roll my eyes so he doesn't catch it. It's a pathetic way to mask the hurt I feel. Dad has never been so angry at me. "We don't have time for arguments," Sallah announces. "We must get out of here!"

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After a long number of long passageways, shoot outs and several dead ends, we've finally found our way out. Sallah came to us prepared. A car was parked out front when we finally exited the building. Now, I'm sitting in between Mutt and Dad, the latter of which I'm currently not talking to. We haven't spoken a word since our little blowup. We're both so stubborn and refuse to admit defeat. I still think I'm right. If it hadn't been for me, poor Ox probably would have been tortured, if they do in fact have him. The silence between us is slightly uncomfortable, but I can't be the first one to break. "Where are we going?" Dad asks Sallah. Sallah looks at him from the front seat, his hands still tightly gripping the steering wheel. "I can't tell you right now. Just know that's it's somewhere safe. Somewhere were people like us can be safe..." If Sallah's cryptic answer isn't a big red flag, then I don't know what is. Of course, I know exactly what he means by 'people like us'. He means people who have acquired many enemies like Dad, and now me. He means people who seek out to better our world by doing little things, often becoming a reluctant hero. In short, he means an adventurer. That's something that Dad is. I'm just an automatic target that needs to be protected because I'm near him, just like Mutt. I can feel the anger simmering inside me at the thought. I don't need anybody to protect me but myself. The activities from today catch up to me quickly. Soon, I can barely keep my eyes open. As I go under, I lay my head on Mutt's shoulder, the closest thing to a pillow I can get right now.

"We're almost there," Sallah announces loudly. I open my eyes groggily, trying to adjust to the blinding light streaming through the windows. I bring my head up from Mutt's soft shoulder, and I just barely see a glance of the dopey smile on his face. That boy can be such a mystery sometimes, but I'd be lying if I said he hasn't grown on me by now. Looking out the window, I can see our surroundings. Much to my surprise, it seems we're out of Ox's side of England. If I were forced to guess where we are, I'd say we're near the country. It's where people have been fleeing to since the bombings started. Suddenly, black encases the car. Sallah is driving down a tunnel. "Um, where is this joint exactly?" Mutt asks. Despite living in Egypt where there is no greaser fad, Sallah seems to understand. "Not far." We wait as the black is lifted and fences are suddenly everywhere. I'm only slightly alarmed. Sallah's on our side; he wouldn't take us somewhere unless it was safe. He parks the car near some trees. "Please, exit now," Sallah requests. We comply, but I can see that Dad and Mutt fell asleep too by their grogginess. From what I can see, we're encased in a fenced area with a building ahead, covered protectively by many trees. We all follow Sallah as he walks wordlessly towards the entrance, pushing open the heavy glass door for us. It looks like an office building inside, complete with a receptionist. Sallah approaches the front desk, smiling heartily at the receptionist. "Ma'am, I think there's a leak on the extra floor." When she looks up suddenly and scans the room, I realize that 'a leak on the extra floor' must be some sort of code. "Of course,"she responds. "Follow me." Sallah looks back at us and gives us a thumbs up as we follow the woman to wherever she's going.

We stand in the elevator with the woman. Looking at the buttons, she presses different ones at different times. First the third floor, then the first, then the lobby... When she's done, she steps back. "Please come back if you need anything, Dr. Jones." I tilt my head at her. Dad is much more well-known around here than I thought. The doors slide shut and I feel the elevator begin to move. "I have a weird feeling this 'extra floor' isn't really a lie," Mutt muses. "Oh, really?" I ask sarcastically. Mutt just chuckles. He knows that I mean no harm in my teasing. It's become how we communicate with each other. I jerk forward when the elevator comes to an abrupt stop, and I look at the dangling light above us swaying slightly. "This is it, my friends," Sallah announces. When I whip my head back around to the elevator door, I'm speechless. It looks like we've landed in some sort of control center. The huge room is surrounded by tables with men in suits doing paper work or answering phones. "They're trying to locate the crown, aren't they?" Dad asks Sallah, though he sounds sure of himself anyway. "Yes. We want to find it before the Nazis." Of course we do. I walk further into the room without being told. No one stops working to pay attention to the teenage girl among them. Maybe they knew I was coming. I can sense Mutt, Dad and Sallah behind me. Sallah steps ahead, opening a door at the end of the control center. We enter what seems to be a lounging area. It has a living room feel to it, with a few couches, chairs and rugs. "I'll show you to your rooms later," Sallah says. "Why is all this needed?" Dad asks. I glare at him, though he doesn't catch it. It's better to just not ask 'why'. "Indy, all of you are in danger. I don't mean the danger you're used to. This time, you all are their real targets, not just a pest they hope to wipe out. They won't get the crown untill they get _you_ three." Three? "What the hell did _I_ do?" Mutt asks. My thoughts exactly. Sallah sighs. "You're traveling with the Jones family, my friend. The Nazis have assumed you mean something to them." I look at Mutt critically. He may be a hair obsessed, sarcastic, slang talking greaser, but he means something to me. I cringe thinking of what the Nazis could do to him. "Before I tell you anything more, there's someone I'd like you to see." Dad smirks. "Who?" Sallah shakes his head. "Promise non of you will faint?" I laugh, though the words worry me a bit. "Scout's honor," Dad answers jokingly. Sallah is grinning like an idiot before he steps aside, revealing someone I was convinced I may never see again.

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**A/N: You like? I had a little trouble writing the last two paragraphs, but I did it! Honestly, even though I tried so far to make Indy and Char as close as possible, their little fight was a lot of fun to write. As always, PLEASE REVIEW! And, you all are welcome to take a jab at who 'M' is and who you think may be the person Sallah wanted them to see. I LOVE GUESSES!**


	11. Chapter 11

**A/N: Thank you for all the love on this story! And a shout out to Bulldog95 for being a loyal reviewer for almost all of my story! I can't tell you who 'M' is flat out, but here's a hint; you'll find out really, REALLY soon... And thank you for appreciating the fight I added in. They're so close that I needed to throw in a little conflict to spice things up a bit.**

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"Ox!" I jump into Ox's waiting arms, absorbing the warmth as much as possible. His short, prickly beard has never felt so welcoming. "Charlotte Desmona Jones. You have matured a great deal since our last meeting! What ever happened to the intransigent young girl who would never embrace anyone?" I laugh, suddenly so grateful for his vast vocabulary that I struggle to keep up with. Ox releases me much too soon and looks behind me. "Henry Williams! My boy, where did you acquire that atrocious hair style?" Mutt blushes a dark pink while I laugh. Poor Mutt with his greaser style can never win with our adult friends. "Ah, Henry Jones Jr. It's wonderful to see you once more, my friend." Dad smiles widely and reaches out to hug Ox. "How are you doing, Ox? You have a lot to explain to us, buddy." Ox releases Dad and smiles. "Yes, I suppose I do owe you all an explanation." All of us lean in to Ox, waiting for his words. Ox is like our fortune-teller. To us, he always knows what's going on. "To begin, I will admit that I have yet to acquire the crown itself. However, I do know the location and I do posses the map that shall lead us to that point." Dad and Sallah exchange a small smile. "However, there is one, umm.. 'downside', as you young people would say." I tilt my head, waiting to hear the 'downside'. "We must use Charlotte to unlock the crown." Three pairs of eyes start to stare at me, making me squirm. I'm just as confused as I was to begin with, maybe even more. "What about me?" I ask. Ox sighs sympathetically. "My dear, you're very pure of heart. All of us in this room have been corrupted some way by the many evils of the world. You have managed to stay innocent and beautiful." Innocent? I was almost killed in many ways, including a gunshot wound and attempted torture. I have no idea how I'm still 'pure of heart'. "Have you ever questioned your mother's ancestory?" he asks. I shake my head. Why question the heritage of a dead woman? "My dear, your mother was of British descent on her father's side. Your grandfather was a distant relative of Queen Mary herself." I gasp. If my paternal grandfather was related to Queen Mary, then I think I know where this is going. "However, Abner Ravenwood was a male. Men are unable to unlock the power of the crown due to Queen Mary being the first and last user. You are the only woman we know of who possesses the power to unlock the power of the crown. It is your destiny." Everyone is staring at me now like they never knew me, even Dad. I fidget around in my spot, feeling like a stranger to even myself. However, I also feel like a huge weight is lifted off of me. Now I know why I've been walking around with a target on my back for months.

"Stop looking at me," I demand quietly. Everyone turns away in shame or pity. Maybe a little bit of both. "Can't we just leave this crown alone?" I ask desperately. Ox's eyes get soft, and I know the answer before he even shakes his head. "I'm afraid that isn't feasible, my dear. The Nazi army will not rest untill the crown is in their hands." I feel like an outsider. Suddenly, I'm not a part of this group. I'm their key to the crown. I'm just that weirdo who's putting us all in danger. It stings. "Can you show me to my room now, Sallah?" I ask, my voice quivering slightly. He nods silently, taking my hand and leading me out of the room down a long hallway. "The first one on the right," he tells me. Without another word, I go to my temporary room and throw myself down on the bed, burying my face in the pillow. I desperately wish I could just go home and act like this never happened. I wish Dad and I weren't fighting and he was here, comforting me. I wish the Nazis didn't exist. I wish Mom was alive. I wish I was _normal_.

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**Indy POV**

Everyone is deathly silent after Char's departure. We don't know what to say to each other. The obvious is that as long as we have Char with us, we're far from safe, but we need her with us or else we're not getting the crown. I think of my little girl, who's probably crying in her room right now. It makes my heart ache. "I'm gonna go check on her," I announce, breaking the silence. "Good idea," Mutt adds, probably just to have something to say. "First door on the right," Sallah tells me. I smile sadly at him and leave in a hurry. Let them have an awkward conversation. I want no part of it.

I knock lightly on the door. After a few seconds, I hear a muffled voice say, "Go away." I roll my eyes. Leave it to me to raise the most strong-willed, independent teenager on the face of the earth. "Char, can I talk to you?" I ask. "No," she responds bluntly. I open the door gently and shut it behind me. She cranes her head out of her pillow, revealing her tear-stained face. All my anger from our fight earlier dissolves when I see how upset she is. Papa bear mode takes over. "Too late." She scowls. "What do you want?" Instead of responding, I walk over to her bed and sit down on the edge beside her. "I wanted apologize for what I said earlier," I say slowly, peeking at her face to see her response. I can tell she's surprised, but her expression stays hard. "It wasn't right of me to plan to sell out Ox," I continue. "You can make your own decisions. I was just scared for you when I said all of that, so I said some things I didn't mean. You're a quick thinker and you helped get us out of that situation. I should be thanking you." The hardness on her face melts away completely. "I'm sorry too, Daddy. I know you want what's best for me." I reach out to hug her and she meets me halfway. Suddenly, she scoots over and pats the spot next to her. I smile, remembering how many nights I would stay in her bed so she could fall asleep when she was little. To me, she still is little.

"Dad?" she asks. "Hmm?" She puts her head on my shoulder, leaning in to me. "Can you tell me about Mom?" I stiffen. Marion has not been brought up since Char insisted she might be alive. Char notices how I tense up. "I'm sorry, Dad. I didn't mean to bring up bad memories. I'll just stop asking. It's okay, I don't-" "Calm down, Char," I soothe her. She stops blubbering and looks up at me. I take a deep breath and release it slowly. "Your mother..." I don't even know where to begin. "Your mother was certainly a force of nature. She was just as stubborn as you are now. But if you stuck around long enough, she was the sweetest person you would ever meet." The words are pouring out now. "She had dark, curly hair and tan skin. Her eyes were bright blue. Not the kind of blue that ours are, but they were so pretty. When we started seeing each other, she was only seventeen, ten years younger than me, but we didn't care. Her father was the person who cared. I was stupid for letting him break us apart. I guess I was just scared. It was luck that we met again a year later. She punched me the first time she saw me." Char laughs lightly. "She had just turned eighteen when we left for Cairo together. It was perfect because she was of age now. What we were doing wasn't illegal anymore. So, when we realized that we never really stopped loving each other, we married immediately. Some people may say that it was too soon, but we never saw it that way. It was just continuing where we left off. One week, when Marion started to get morning sickness frequently, we went to Sallah's doctor to check it out. Both of us thought it was just food poisoning, but when your mother named off all her other symptoms, I was told she was pregnant. Now, I was scared out of my mind. I thought I was going to be a horrible father. I was terrified that when the baby was born, I would feel no connection to it and become like my own father. You mother was completely calm. She had always been the strong one in our relationship in so many ways. It turns out you were conceived before the wedding, so we had you sooner than expected. When I held you for the first time..." I trail off, recalling all the emotions I experienced when the doctor handed me my daughter. How do I put into words what I felt?

"Dad?" I snap back into reality. "Where was I?" I ask, dazed from lack of sleep and my memory. "You were on the part where you held me for the first time." I nod. "Oh, right. When the doctor let me hold you for the first time, it was like nothing I've ever felt before. I've never felt a love so instant, all-consuming, and deep. You were _my_ baby, after all. I had no idea how someone as immature and stupid as me could make something as beautiful as you." Char blushes and looks away. "I told myself that from then on, I would protect you. I wouldn't expose you to my life. I guess I sorta lied to myself..." Char shrugs. "I'm alright, aren't I?" I ruffle her hair. "You sure are, Kiddo. I have no idea how I didn't mess you up." She burrows into my side. "I had a really great role model," she replies. "Sallah?" I guess jokingly. She slaps my chest. "No, silly. Mr. Brody." We both start laughing at the thought of Marcus being a role model. He's a nice man, sure, but Char would have been dead by now if he mentored her. We calm down our laughing and get cozier on the bed. I can feel the day's events catching up with me. "Dad?" she asks again before I succumb to sleep. "Yeah?" I respond sleepily. "Do you miss Mom?" Her question catches me off guard. It's been sixteen long years since Marion's death. I don't want Char to see me so vulnerable, but I answer honestly. "I miss her every second of my life. If it wasn't for you, I would probably have no reason to get out of bed in the morning." Finally, I let my exhaustion take me.

* * *

**Char POV**

I'm glad Dad and I finally made up, but hearing him say that I'm the reason he's still mobile is less than comforting. Somehow, I just know that if Mom were here, she would know how to make me feel better. I don't even remember her, but I feel like I know her. Part of me is still clinging on to the belief that she may be alive somehow like I saw in that vision. I wish that I had a mother's guidance in my life. My dad has done a pretty great job, but he doesn't have a mother's touch. I just clumsily follow behind Belinda when it comes to each new stage of my life since I don't have a mother to help me through it.

I'm not even tired, but I assume that I'll crash later. Dad is already there, with his body wrapped around mine. Carefully, I slip out of Dad's hold and leave the room. Ox is probably still awake. People with higher IQs tend to stay up later at night because of the stimulation around them is hard to ignore. I go down the long hallway where everybody is staying. I have no idea where Ox's room is, but I assume he isn't in his room, anyway. He's always wandering around, pondering something. On whim, I open the last door at the end of the hallway. A gust of wind hits my face. I'm on a balcony, the bright stars serving as my only light. It's beautiful outside. The stars and moon are almost blindingly bright in the sky and the wind is light and perfect, not too gusty. Sure enough, Ox is standing there on the edge of the balcony, looking out at the night. I stride over, standing next to him on the balcony, leaning on it. Ox doesn't turn to see me. "Hello, Charlotte," he greets. "Nice to see you too, Ox." Ox still stays facing the sky and the moon, seemingly transfixed by it. "It is beautiful, isn't it?" he asks, referring to the sky. "Yes, it is, I guess." There's so much about Ox I'll never know. He never seems to answer questions about personal life, instead choosing to give a vague response. The only thing I really know about him is that he and Dad were in the war together and he stopped speaking to Dad after he left Mom, being Mom's only support system after that. However, they started speaking again after Dad and Mom married. I don't think he'll answer any of my questions.

"Ox?" I ask. "What is it that you need, my dear?" he asks. "Who is 'M'?" The silence between us is deafening. I don't ask again because I know it won't help my chances of getting an answer. "I was right in my thinking that you would discover the note," he whispers finally. "You know I loved the Nancy Drew books." He smiles. Ox was the one who always read them to me. He finally looks over at me, his face as serious as always. "Charlotte, there are some things in this world that it is better to be ignorant towards." I know what he's telling me; it's better that I don't know about 'M'. I don't want to be in the dark anymore, though. I deserve to know what's going on if I'm in the middle of it. "Ox, I'm done with this. I need to know who 'M' is and what she has to do with my dad and me. Everytime something is kept from my, it just ends up hurting more than helping." Ox frowns and nods. "You deserve to know much more than you know now, my dear. Come with me." I hold back a triumphant smile as he leads me down the hallway. I'm not sure if I'm going to find out who 'M' is, but I hope whatever he's taking me to will end up helping me in some way. The command center is still populated and busy. We go right past it. "Where are we going, Ox?" I ask. "No questions, please." I comply. Ox wouldn't do anything that would hurt me, so why should I question him? There are _way_ too many doors in this level of the building. Ox brings me through too many to count. It's like they want to make it too complicated for someone who doesn't know their way through to reach wherever we're going. I'm slightly more alarmed when he enters a code on a door that slides open. I guess people aren't supposed to be here. "Ox, why is there a hidden passageways in a whole floor where things are supposed to be hidden?" I ask as we walk. "This is the only true safe house we have, so every person we consider to be in danger by the crown must be housed here. You and your father are trusted, Charlotte, but there are certain things we are expected to keep from you. The only way that is possible is to make sure it is unattainable to you."

He leads me to a room much like the one Sallah lead us to earlier. Inside, a woman is sitting with her legs crossed, playing a card game with Sallah. What the heck is _Sallah_ doing here. The woman has dark hair, tan skin and a wide smile, apparently from something Sallah said. The two look like old friends. When the door shuts, she turns around. Her face lights up when she sees Ox, but then she turns to me curiously. "Ox! Who did you bring with you?" Ox looks at me, smiling. "I brought Charlotte Jones with me. She insisted on knowing who I was corresponding with." It's like my name triggers something. The woman drops her cards and stares at me, wide-eyed. "You're really Charlotte?" she asks in a whisper. I nod, not knowing what else to do. She stands up shakily and walks over, putting her hand on my shoulder hesitantly, like she's scared of being rebuffed. "Oh, Ox. She's beautiful." I give her a weary smile. Okay, this is kind of creepy. "Will someone tell me what's going on?" I ask. "Charlotte, my dear," Ox says. "Say hello to your mother, Marion Jones." I look back at Ox. No, he must be mistaken. He _must_ be mistaken. When I look back at my so-called mother, I realize she looks eerily similar to the photos I kept of Mom and the descriptions Dad gave. The black hair, the bright blue eyes, the wide smile, the tan skin...

I back away slowly, sure that I'm pale as a ghost. "No... My mother is dead." The woman- whoever she may be- takes a small step towards me. "No, I'm not. I've been kept in hiding because of my father. You've been told that you're the heir to the crown, haven't you?" I nod, keeping my distance. She points to herself. "So am I. When I was found by Ox and some others in Germany, I was rescued from the Nazis. I wanted desperately to contact your father, but I was told I would be a danger to him and you. I never stopped to think that you would be the heir to the crown if I was dead.." She looks at me regretfully. "I'm sorry you never knew about all of this, Charlotte. I'm sorry you grew up thinking I was dead. I'm sorry your dad raised you alone. I'm just... sorry." I have no words. When I was little, I would imagine my mother coming home one day, despite being told she never would. I created many different scenarios in my head, but this was never one. "Dad needs to know," I choke out. The woman- I mean, _Mom_- shakes her head. "You knowing is bad enough. I don't want to put your father in danger." I narrow my eyes. "What more danger could he possibly be in?" I ask. "I'm already a danger to Dad. We're on the same boat here. Whether or not he knows about you, he's in danger because of me." She looks down, sighing. "I guess you're right..." I put my hand on her shoulder, surprising both me and her. She looks down as I continue. "He misses you everyday. I think he blames himself for your 'death'. He deserves to know the love of his life is still alive, doesn't he?" Mom looks up at me, her eyes brimming with tears. "Yes, he does."

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**A/N: Okay, okay, I KNOW the way Char found Marion was pretty sucky, but it was the best I could come up with. I promise, Indy's reunion with Marion will be worth your while. PROMISE. As always, please review, follow, and favorite!**


	12. Chapter 12

**A/N: Thank you for not totally hating how I dragged Marion into this! This is my 'fluffy' chapter. I like writing the emotional parts a lot! A special thanks to Bulldog95. I love your reviews! Lately they have been my ONLY reviews, sooo... And to smkelover: 'Me gusta' means 'I like' in Spanish, right? I can't reply in Spanish, BUT I can speak German! Danke!**

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I lead Mom- the word still seems so foreign- down the long hallway near my room, where Dad is fast asleep. I hold my hand out, keeping her standing in the hallway. "Let me go in first. I'll come to get you." She nods, smiling, and steps away. I open the door slowly, careful not to wake Dad. I close it slightly, just enough so Mom is not visible. Dad is still curled up on the bed, a pillow replacing my body that he was previously holding. I sit down at the edge of the bed, looking at Dad. When he's asleep, he looks much younger. The pain and years are shaved off somehow, making him look more peaceful. I wonder if everyone looks younger when they sleep. I put my hand on Dad's shoulder, shaking him gently. "Dad.." I say, unable to keep the smile out of my voice. "Dad, wake up." He stirs slightly, stretching his limbs out on the bed. His eyes flicker open and land on my face, a smile spreading across his face. "Ah, how is my little girl?" he asks playfully. I roll my eyes jokingly. "I'm not exactly 'little' anymore, Dad." He frowns. "Don't remind me. Now, can you please tell me why you woke me up from a nap I really needed?" Guilt isn't getting him anywhere today. "I wanted to ask you a little question," I respond. He looks at me curiously. "Well?" I lean in a little bit. "What would you do if Mom suddenly reappeared?" Dad stares at me like I've lost it. After all, I just asked him earlier if he missed her, now it seems to him that I'm asking something totally unfair. "If she were here right now?" he clarifies. I nod. "If she were here right now, I wouldn't even bother to ask how she got here. I would just run up to her and hug her. And then some other things you're not supposed to know about," he teases. I roll my eyes again. "What would you say to her?" I ask. He shrugs. "I guess I would tell her how much I love her, how much I missed her, and then I would tell her all about the stubborn, trouble-making daughter she dumped me with." His joking is an attempt to mask the pain and the longing, but the fact that he'll no longer have to feel that soon is a comfort to me. I smile, standing up from the bed. "I'll be right back," I announce.

Skipping over to the door, I slip out. Grabbing Mom's hand without explanation, I lead her into the room. Dad looks up slowly when he hears the door close. "Well, so much for be back soon," he starts to say. For a split second, he doesn't register the fact that Mom is here. When he finally does, I can see how in awe he truly is. His brain can't catch up with the fact that the wife he long thought dead is here, in the room with him instead of being ashes in the sand in Cairo. Dad stands up off the bed cautiously, like Mom could disappear at any moment. He must think he's crazy. I would if I was in his position. When he reaches Mom, he hesitantly puts his hands on her face, gently brushing back her hair. I look away. It feels wrong to intrude on their moment together. "I'll be outside," I announce, though I'm sure it fell upon deaf ears. I leave quickly. However, I can feel the smile on my face. I don't think it can ever be wiped off.

**Indy POV**

I can't believe it. I'm too scared to believe it. Marion, my _dead wife_, is here. She's alive and well, like nothing happened. Char knew. That's why she asked me what I'd do if Marion were alive. "Marion..." I whisper in disbelief. She smiles- that beautiful smile I missed so much- and nods. "Yes, Indy, it's me." I shake my head to myself, still waiting to wake up from this wonderful dream. "But, h-how?" She laughs. "That's a long story." I begin to wonder if the basket I was sure was carrying Marion was really her or just someone's laundry. How else could she be here, right in front of me? "I saw the car carrying the basket you were in explode," I whisper, sounding eerily similar to a mental patient. Marion places a hand on my face gently. "Indy..." she begins. "They didn't put me on a vehicle." My doubt crumbles in front of me. All this time, I thought I had accidentally contributed to my wife's death by shooting at the truck I was sure they were transporting her on. I was devastated and racked with guilt, day and night. If only I had figured it out sooner. If only I had asked questions, if only I had looked around. Instead of feeling sorry for myself, I look back at my Marion. She's just as beautiful as she was before. Her older self is shockingly unaged. I'm sure I'm quite the opposite.

I hug Marion close to me, as close as I can be to her. The feeling of her body against mine was sorely missed for all these years. Marion hugs me back and wraps her arms around my neck. "Marion.. I missed you so much." I'm not even aware of what's spewing out of my mouth anymore. I know that I'm gladly handing out 'I love you's' to her along with telling her how much I missed her. "I love you too, Indy," she whispers. "I missed you too." I'm so happy, yet so confused. I accepted the fact that Marion was never coming back to us. I silently mourned her and then tried to ignore the subject of her, just like I did with Mom. It was unhealthy, I know, but it minimized the pain. It was either that or take an even more destructive path, but I couldn't do that when I had a child to raise. I whimper slightly when Marion pulls back out of my embrace. I miss the contact already. "Indy, can you tell me about our daughter?" she asks with excitement in her eyes. I smile sadly. She missed all but a few months of Char's life. I thought _I _was the one in pain all these years, but Marion knew her child was alive and had forgotten about her. I can't even begin to imagine her pain. I lead her to the bed and sit down with her. "First of all, she goes by 'Char' now," I begin. "I guess you were right when you said she would be like me and take a nickname." Marion rolls her eyes. "Of course she did. She's your daughter, after all." I grin, pulling Marion in even closer. "She's got plenty of you in her. She's stubborn, independent, impulsive, and quick to anger. She's my best friend." Marion looks at me, obviously surprised. Sallah, Marcus, Colin, and even Oxley were always my best friends. Now I'm claiming that I'd rather spend most of my time with a sixteen year old girl. "Really?" she asks. I nod. "We're closer than most father and daughters are. I guess that comes from mutual loss. She's just such a beautiful person, inside and out. I can't believe that I didn't mess her up big time. Sometimes I still don't know what the heck I'm doing with her, but I'm glad she turned out just fine by some miracle." Marion laughs, slapping my shoulder. "That's no miracle, Indy. That's really good parenting." She isn't the first person to tell me that I raised Char correctly, but I never believe it when I've been told that I'm the reason Char is the way she is now. She's always been very independent and never does a damn thing she doesn't want to. However, hearing Marion saying it evokes something inside me. I always raised Char with the intent of making Marion proud. It looks like I have accomplished my goal.

I lean in and kiss Marion lightly. After sixteen years, I feel complete. I never thought I'd have Marion back, so I settled for a life where the only love I had was the love I felt for Char. Now, I can finally grow old with my true love like I promised to sixteen years ago in Cairo. I recline on the bed with Marion. "I love you," I whisper. She smirks and cuddles further into my side. "I love you too, Indy."

* * *

**Char POV**

"Do we have any books here?" I ask Mutt. He shakes his head. "Unless you want to read some old book about arks and stuff, then no." I giggle a little at ignorance on the subject. For someone who is travelling with Dad, he sure doesn't know a lot about him. Him saying 'arks and stuff' just proves it to me. "Well, it's not exactly old," I mention. Mutt raises his eyebrows. "How do you know, doll?" he asks. I grab the book off the shelf, opening the table of contents. When I see 'discovery', I flip to page 220. A picture of a younger Dad standing next to Sallah and Mr. Brody is on the first page I see. I smirk while showing it to Mutt. "My dad discovered it when I was a few months old, genius." His mouth drops open. "Really?" Of course, he's completely dumbfounded by it. "Mmmhmm." I put the book away, leaning back in my chair. "Your old man really is something," Mutt adds. I nod. "Yep, he's not like most fathers." I know Colin probably made a great father. When he visited, he never brought Mutt along, so I never knew he was a father. I think Dad knew, though. "I'm guessing you had a pretty cool dad, too," I say to Mutt. He smiles a little to himself and shrugs. "Yeah, he was pretty cool, I guess."

"The last time I saw your dad was when I was eight. He never said anything about having a kid," I mention. Mutt raises his eyebrows. "Really? I nod. "How old are you, anyway?" I ask. "Nineteen," he answers. Well, that's close enough to my age, I guess. I always assumed he was around eighteen or so, maybe twenty. I wasn't that far off. "Did you know about me?" I ask. Mutt shrugs, showing a gap between his fingers to signal that he kind of knew about me, just a little. "I knew Indy had a daughter, but I didn't expect her to be like you." He looks away and blushes slightly after answering. It catches my interest. "How so?" I ask. He shrugs, though not very convincingly. "I mean... when I went looking for your old man, I knew you'd be with him, but I'm expecting some really booky, plain-jane looking kid who wants to stay as far away from this whole mess as possible. Then we bumped into each other- literally." I laugh, remembering how that went. I was rather cold to him, but that's just the type of person I am. I'm kind in most cases, but when I feel like someone is less than kind back, my claws come out. "You were definitely not a plain-jane," he continues. I blush slightly. I would disagree, but a few compliments won't kill me, right? "Seriously, Char. Look at yourself! You're... hot!" I won't lie; I was expecting something like 'beautiful' or maybe just 'pretty'. I scowl. "Way to ruin a moment, Mutt." He smirks, which suits him. "We were having a 'moment'?" he asks. I don't respond, but I can't help the grin spreading across my face. I know Mutt and I love to annoy each other, but I'm growing this strange attachment to him. I don't know what to make of it.

Mutt stands up out of his chair and plops himself down next to me. His arm rests on the couch, very close to my shoulders. Oddly enough, I don't mind. "Okay, okay," he starts. "I'll admit, calling you 'hot' was a pretty lame move." I scoff. "You bet it was." Mutt smiles and laughs. Like I said, our way of showing we care is peculiar. "What I _will _say is that you're pretty darn beautiful." I blush, but look away so he doesn't see it. "Shut up," I mumble. "I don't just give out compliments to anybody, Char," he says. He's not smirking or even smiling. He's serious. "You're not like any girl I've ever met. You're beautiful, sure, but you're also definitely not afraid to get your hands dirty. In every situation we get into, I'm clueless. I guess I get lucky sometimes, but you're a darn pro at this." I slap his shoulder playfully, trying not to blush again at his generous words. "Well, you don't look so bad yourself, greaser." He tilts his head, and I try not to regret what I said. "You mean it?" he asks teasingly. I nod a little. "You have a really good smile," I mumble. Mutt leans in a little. "I'm sorry. I didn't catch that, sweetheart." I narrow my eyes dangerously. More like he wanted to hear it again. Why that arrogant, self-absorbed... "I said, 'You have a really good smile'!" Mutt grins, scooting closer to me. "That's what I thought. But my eyes aren't as cool as your's. Seriously, they're pretty nifty." I cock my head. "Nifty?" I ask. I'm still not used to some of Mutt's slang. He sighs. "It means pretty or cool." I nod. I can put that one somewhere in the back of my mind now. "Thanks, Mutt," I say, a little softer than usual. "Anytime," he whispers in response. I can sense the shift in the air between us. He's closer to me now, his hand resting on the back of my neck. I'm trying not to fidget in my spot. I nearly jump when Mutt clears his throat. "I should be going to my room now, y'know. It's getting late." I nod, though I don't want to leave this spot. "I guess I should be leaving, too." Before I can stand, Mutt kisses my cheek. This time, I do jump. Even if it was only a friendly kiss, it caught me off guard. Thankfully, Mutt doesn't seem to notice. Well, if he did, he didn't say anything.

"I'll see you later," Mutt says, his usual confidence back. I smile a wave as I walk out the door. "See ya soon." When I'm out of sight, I touch my cheek and smile. Am I really this stupid?

* * *

When I enter my room, Mom and Dad are still together on the bed, just talking to each other. Seeing them wrapped around each other isn't weird or cringe-worthy like most children would think of their parents showing affection to each other. Instead, I view it as sweet. "Sorry to interrupt the moment, but I want to talk to Mom alone for a minute." The two break apart at the sound of my voice and Dad stands up. I hate to ask him to leave her after he just got her back, but I need a moment with her too. "Okay. Just come get me whenever." I smile, silently thanking him for being so understanding. Before he leaves, he leans down and kisses Mom's forehead. On his way out the door, he kisses mine too. Now I'm alone with Mom. It's almost awkward. Dad is the one who truly knows Mom. He also knows me, unlike Mom, who never got that chance. Mom and I are like strangers who rely on outside sources to learn things about each other. I know that I love her, but am I ready to admit that to her? What if she turns out to be someone I don't like or worse, what if I'm someone she doesn't like? I hesitantly go to stand by the chair while she sits on the edge of the bed. "I guess we should, umm, talk about this," I suggest, trailing off slightly. I'm not even sure what I mean by 'this'. She nods, looking as uncomfortable as I feel.

"How much do you know about me?" I ask her, trying to start some sort of conversation. "Your father told me quite a lot," she answers, smiling. I'm not surprised. Dad thinks I'm some sort of model child for his lifestyle. In his words, I would be a nightmare for anyone else but him. I wonder if Mom will think the same way in time. "What do you know about me?" she asks. When Dad is in a good mood, he could go on forever about Mom, but sometimes the subject is taboo. "I know that you and Dad married in Cairo and you had me not long after. I know you were supposedly dead from an explosion. I know that he left you once, but returned to you a year later." Mom nods after each thing I say, showing me that I'm right. "I know that he loves you..." I add softly. Dad loves Mom so much that I wonder how he got on with his life thinking she was dead. Mom smiles sadly. "And I love him." I know she's telling the truth. She does love him. I wonder if she'll love me someday. "I love you too, you know." My question is answered for me. How can she love someone she doesn't know? Then again, Dad talked about how he loved me from the minute he laid eyes on me. I squirm and my legs grow restless. "How could you know that?" I ask. "I mean, you don't really know me yet. You could end up hating the way I turned out. I'm not that great, I mean-" "Char," she interrupts politely, yet firmly. I stop rambling like a crazy person and listen. She stands up, but keeps her distance, like she's scared of rejection. "You're my child and you always will be. When you were born, I felt an instant connection to you. Call it motherhood, but I knew I would always love you. I failed in protecting you and being there for you, but I want to make up for that. There is nothing you could possibly be in this world that could make me stop loving you, ever." I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. I've never had any motherly love or influence in my life. I grew up surrounded by men, only one of which was close to being as tender and loving as a mother is supposed to be. Her words hit me hard. I have a mother now, and nothing will change that.

I curse myself when I feel tears starting to gather in the corners of my eyes. Not now, Char, not now! I don't want her to think I'm weak or overly emotional, because I'm far from it. But I just can't help it, so I have to look away. "Char?" She sounds concerned, like mothers are supposed to be when their children are upset. It just makes more tears fall. "I'm sorry, I don't know what's wrong with me." Mom steps forward and puts her arms around me. My first reaction is to stiffen and the new feeling of being hugged by foreign arms. But haven't I been wanting this since I was little? I'm just not sure how I feel about it. However, the warmth of her hug breaks me. I relent and wrap my arms around her in return, leaning in to her embrace. It makes me feel warm and secure. Some of the doubt I had dissolves. "Thank you," I mumble, though I'm not sure why I'm thanking her. She seems to know what I mean when she answers, "No, thank _you_."

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I walk down the hall, not sure where my destination is. I'm bored, restless, and curious. These aren't great traits to have when it's late at night. I should be in bed, but I don't want to be in that stuffy little room anymore. For now, I'm just walking back and forth down the hallway, praying that no one can hear my footsteps. So much has been loaded on me in such a short amount of time that sometimes, tonight included, I feel like it could all be taken away as quickly. I feel like I could just wake up and Mom would be gone, like it never even happened. Leaving the hall, I lean against the wall near the lounge, laying my head on the cool wall. I close my eyes and pay attention to the noises in the background to take my mind off all the changes in my life. A muffled voice coming from the lounge startles me. Shouldn't everybody be asleep right now? Well, I'm not, but shouldn't everybody at least be in their room? Okay, bad example again. I look underneath the door to see that the light is on. My blood runs cold. Of course, the first thing I think is that it must be another kidnapper. What else could it be? Slowly, I grab the door knob and start to turn it gently, making sure I don't make any noise. My heart is pounding so fast that it feels like it will fly right out of my chest. I open it quickly and quietly, sliding right into the room. I look away from the door to the room, prepared to face a Nazi or some other villan.

Instead, it's Dad, Mom, Mutt, Ox, and Sallah who greet me. They seem ecstatic. Mom and Dad are in an embrace, Ox is shaking Sallah's hand, and Mutt just looks excited in general. They all whip their heads around at the sound of my entrance. "Char!" Mutt exclaims. Before I can react, he runs over and hugs me, lifting me off the ground with his strong arms. I giggle, despite the part of my brain that screams not to giggle at anything Mutt does, and hug him back. "What's this about?" I ask him, but I would welcome anybody's answer. Dad throws his arm around Mom as he smiles brightly, showing all his teeth. "We found it, Char." Mutt, who's at my side with his arm around my waist, looks at me with excitement in his eyes. It hits me then that they're talking about the crown. They found the crown. "What? Really?" I ask, feeling my own excitement rise. Ox nods, keeping his usual calm demeanor. "Yes, my child. We have successfully tracked the palace holding the crown. Now it's just a matter of getting it before the Nazis can." Of course, to get the crown, they have to use ME. Suddenly, I feel my excitement fade. I have to go on a repeat of the Grail adventure. Let's just hope this one goes better.

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**A/N: Ooooohhhhh, I can just hear the comments about Char and Mutt now! Ain't they adorable? Well, like Mutt would say, I'm beat. Soooo, please REVIEW, FAVORITE, and FOLLOW.**


	13. Chapter 13

**A/N: Ready for the hunt for the crown to really begin, people? Another shout out to Bulldog95! Hmmmm, your idea seems interesting... Could you expand on that? Maybe I'll put it in... ;)**

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"Are you ready yet?" I hear Mutt yell from the hallway for what feels like the thousandth time. I huff at his impatience, and fix my hair, which has been growing out lately, a little more in the mirror. "Almost," I yell back, tucking a few personal items into my purse. Sallah retrieved them from the hotel along with a few clothes. We didn't want anyone to get suspicious as to why all our belongings had vanished, just in case someone cared enough to check. Dad said that it would be something that the Nazis wouldn't mind factoring in. They'll do a lot of things for the sake of the crown. Grabbing my small purse, I stuff in my heart-shaped necklace I was gifted by Mom before her 'death', along with a small mirror and my worn, leather journal. Before I exit the room, I scan it again. No matter how much I wish I hadn't gotten myself into this situation in the first place, I must admit that this has been a fine place to stay. For once, instead of feeling like I was surrounded by hostility and people who didn't understand me in the least, I realized that I was around people who were going through the same things as me. The same challenges, the same stresses, the same worries, the same fears; I was amongst friends. Now, we have to leave the sanctity of this building to venture out in pursuit for something that may get us killed. I haven't been told where the crown is yet, but I guess that's my fault for not asking.

I see the men who were once working the control center are a bit lazier since the crown is already located. I don't know what more they have to do right now, but Ox said that once we leave to find the crown, they have to communicate with us in case they get anymore information that we must know for our mission. I slip right past them, jogging to the elevator. Much to my embarrassment, everyone is already there, waiting for me. Dad is too busy paying attention to Mom to be impatient about it. I'm happy for him. This is the only relationship he's ever had that I approved of. Elsa was a nightmare, of course, and a dirty traitor that I never liked even when I didn't know she was double-agent. Then there was that singer named Willie Scott that he brought home from India. Gosh, what a find _she_ was. That screechy, whiny woman got on my nerves so much that I was practically begging Dad to reconsider and kick her to the curb, which he eventually did on his own, much to my relief. Mom is the only woman who I can actually see is a good match for him and all his stubbornness.

When I approach, Mutt is quick to wrap an arm around my waist. It's no longer awkward in any way. Somehow, it just feels normal now. We've become the closest of friends since meeting not that long ago. It's like I've known him my whole life. "Look who decided to show up," he says sarcastically. I place my hand on his chest to steady myself, still tired. "Well excuse me, I didn't know there was a designated time." Mutt smirks and cocks his head, looking down at me with his twinkling brown eyes. "You win this time, baby. Next time, you're goin' down." I know that 'baby' is pretty much socially acceptable greaser slang by hanging around my school's campus, but I'm not sure if Dad knows 'baby' as anything but a word you use on your significant other or someone you're interested in. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see him look at Mutt curiously, like he's questioning his intentions. I know he trusts Mutt, but in his mind, I'm still his little girl who needs protecting. It's frustrating sometimes, but mostly, I feel oddly safe under his watchful eye. "So, are we leaving, or are we just gonna stand here leering at each other?" Mom asks, a hint of sarcasm in her words. I smile to myself. So I _am_ just like her. Dad chuckles, which tells me that he is used to her sense of humor. He should be. He lives with me, after all.

We all cram into the elevator, letting Sallah punch in the complicated combination on the various floor buttons. I'm aware of how cramped we all are in this small elevator when I try to move forward, only to be stopped by whoever's in front of me. We started out with three people and ended up with six. I have a strange feeling that we'll run into more soon. Dad has so many friends from all over the world because of his many adventures, which means we have a good chance of running into at least some of them. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder where Grandfather and Marcus are right now. It's probably best that neither of them are here. They would just slow us down. For right now, it's just the six of us on a seemingly impossible mission. But hey, Dad and I found the Holy Grail together. I think we can face anything now.

* * *

"Char, Char, wake up," I vaguely hear someone whisper in my ear as my shoulder is shaken. I keep my eyes firmly shut, wanting to catch up on the sleep I've been missing lately. I know that it will be hard to fall back asleep after being woken up, but I try anyway. The hand shakes my shoulder a little bit more forcefully. "Earth to Miss Charlotte Desmona Jones!" I reach out to smack the arm of whoever is trying to wake me up, still keeping my eyes closed. However, my hand is caught by the person. Finally, I crack open my eyes to see Dad with a cocky grin on his face. "You lost." I groan and turn away from him, laying my head against the cold window of the vehicle. "Are we there yet?" I ask like a petulant three year old on a long car trip. Dad chuckles at my tone and nods. "We're here." Immediately, I look out the window of the car we're in with Ox as the driver (Sallah is driving Mutt and Mom in another car). I see gently rolling, green hills in the horizon, leading to a semi-dilapidated, but beautiful, castle in the distance. Suddenly, Ox brings the car to a screeching halt, making both Dad and I fly forward into the seats in front of us. "What's wrong, Ox?" Dad asks while grabbing onto me to ensure I don't hit the back of my head on the seat I'm sitting on. I settle back against his large hands, watching Ox closely to see what he'll do next. "We must walk from here," Ox insists. I look out of the window again at the castle. It's probably less than a mile away. I run two miles in gym class every week. This shouldn't be too hard. However, I still ask Ox, "Why?" He turns back to me, his eye possessing an odd, haunted look to them that make me almost regret asking. "We cannot, under any circumstances, risk being apprehended. I will die sooner than forfeit the crown to the vile Nazi party. Therefore, we must take precautions such as parking a good distance away from the castle." I nod wearily, a little alarmed by Ox's extreme dedication to the crown. To be honest, I'm more concerned about getting out of this in one piece than I am about getting my ancestor's crown that bestows nothing but pain and greed.

Dad suddenly reaches over me to open the car door. Without being told, I tumble out onto the soft grass. Grabbing Dad's hand as he steps out of the car, I pull myself back up. He's laughing softly. "How did I raise such an accident-prone kid?" I let out a fake gasp and place my hand over my mouth in pretend horror. "Why, how dare you call me accident-prone? I'll have you know, I tracked down the Holy Grail and only got shot _once_." Dad slings an arm around my shoulder, trailing behind Ox with me. "I'll have _you _know, I tracked down the Ark of the Covenant _while_ brinnging up a newborn and only got shot once in the _shoulder_. Beat that, Kiddo." With a smirk on my face, I fire back, "I'm related to Queen Mary herself, one of the most dangerous women who ever lived!" Dad waves off my claim. "Distantly, not directly," he insists. "There are no direct relatives of her's," I remind him triumphantly. Dad finally relents. "You win this time, sweetheart. But next time, I dragging the Sankara stones into this."

**Mutt POV**

We were in Sallah's sweet ride, which I have no idea how he managed to get when we're barely managing to stay alive, when all the sudden, he tells Marion and I to get out of the car. He said we had to walk to the joint, even though it's nearly a mile away. Why we can't take the freakin' car instead, which was made to _take people places_, I don't even know. He didn't bother to tell us. Look, I think Sallah's pretty cool, but this ain't fun, especially to people who aren't exactly used to walks in England's mucky weather. Y'know that feeling of wet, dewy grass scrapping up against your ankles and making it feel like you need to itch them? I hate that feelin'. Now, I'm walking next to Marion, behind Sallah, through all the wet grass to get to that damp little castle beyond the hill. I don't really know Marion, but she's Char's ma, so she's cool in my book. All I know is that she's was supposed to be dead years and years ago, but apparently, she's just fine. By the way I see it, she must have had Char when she was barely older than Char is _now_. If I had to guess, I would take a shot and say she's in her early to mid-thirties. Pretty young for a parent of someone who's almost an adult themself.

"So, Mutt, how long have you known my family?" she asks me. She's trying to make small talk. After all, we barely know each other, and I am closer to her daughter than she is at the moment. I shrug. "I met her this month, I guess. I don't know how long it's been." My time with Char's been like a tornado. She's an easy person to lose track of time with. "Are you and Char together?" she asks bluntly, like she's asking my favorite color. I nearly stumble forward in shock. What makes her think _that_?! "Wh-Why do you ask?" Marion shrugs, smirking. Hey, not fair, that's _my _move! "No reason," she murmurs. "You two just seem rather comfortable with each other." Char is easy to get comfy with. She's not like most girls, who act all prissy in front of boys and refuse to do anything considered a man's work. When she's in a room full of guys, she dominates. No one intimidates her, no matter what gender. To her, no work is below her if it means it will help her or anyone else, for that matter. And, to top that all off, she's pretty easy on the eye.

"Tell ya what, let's say, just for the sake of the conversation, that I like Char in that way," I decide. Marion gets interested. "Why would she be with me when she could get any guy that she graced with her presence?" Marion rolls her eyes, slightly exasperated. Obviously, I'm missin' something. "Because, you're just like her dad was when he was younger," she answers, like it should be obvious. "And...?" Marion scowls. Now I see the resemblance between her and Char. "Girls go for exact replicas of their fathers, and they aim for the relationship that their parents had. I wasn't around, but the way you two act around each other is _exactly_ how her father and I acted. Well, except you guys don't have to sneak around." Maybe I'll get her to tell me that story later. Okay, maybe I do _kinda_ have a thing for Char, just a little, but doesn't every guy she knows? That's what I'm guessing. I'd never admit that to anyone, much less Char's mom. Call me crazy, but I think Marion knows already.

**Char POV**

I spot Mutt, Mom and Sallah walking through the grass at the same time as us, looking less than pleased with the situation. I can't exactly blame them. I mean, walking a mile in the wet grass isn't enjoyable, but I've done worse. Mutt waves at me to get my attention, though he already had it. "Hey, you guys having fun?!" I shout at them sarcastically. Mutt does his best fake glare and shakes his head. "How 'bout you, princess?" he shouts back. "I've been better!" Dad elbows me in my side lightly, as if to tell me not to complain. When we reach each other, Dad and Mom immediately attach themselves to the other. I can't blame them. After all, they've been separated for more than sixteen years and just got the other back not that long ago.

"We're not that far," Sallah announces happily. Leave it to Sallah to be the happy one during this. Sallah has always been the 'jolly one' of all of us. No matter what situation we're in, he finds the bright side, which sometimes gets on my nerves. When I'm feeling morose, I do _not_ want to be told the positives. I want to sulk. "Where are we expected to look when we get there, anyway?" I ask, directing the question at Ox. "Queen Mary's bed-chamber," he answers simply, as if I should know this already. I want to ask 'why' again, but I do not wish to be given a lecture on what I'm sure are the many reasons why the crown might be stored in the bedroom. Ox seems to believe that because I was raised by an archeologist, I must know everything there is to know about ancient artifacts. Truthfully, Dad tried his best to make my upbringing normal, and that included not usually discussing his career unless I requested it. I know almost nothing about the items Dad has yet to discover.

As usual, Mutt and I trail behind the others as they walk ahead. It's like 'our thing' now. We stay back and talk to each other since we don't have many opportunities to. Mutt, being around my age, is the ideal person to have a conversation with. Everyone else is well beyond my age and harder to relate to. "Be honest with me," Mutt starts slowly. "Do you even give a darn about this crown?" I silently curse Mutt for asking me that question because, well... I don't like the answer. "No." We're silent for a minute, unaware of anything else that could be contributed to that conversation. I'm searching for something I don't even care about. That's it, case closed. What else is there to add? "Is it always like this?" he asks finally. "Is what always like this?" Mutt looks down slightly, seemingly worried about my reaction. "You know... these artifacts. You were there when your old man got the Grail. Did you care about _that_? Or is this your dad's thing and you're just tagging along?"

Oh, so he's asking if I'm interested in archeology. In fact, I am. Human history fascinates me. Adventuressness and recklessness are in my blood, also. The crown is different, though. I nod vigorously. "Yep. When I go to college, I'm taking my dad's class. I wanna be an archeologist too. The crown is about _me_ though. I'm supposed to unlock its powers or something like that. I'd rather be the one who's saving the artifact, not the reason people are trying to steal it in the first place." I'm ashamed. I have been since I found out my connection to the crown. If I weren't around, the Nazis would have no reason to track down the crown and endanger my friends. Mutt suddenly squeezes my hand tightly, almost to the point of pain. "Char, never assume that you're the reason the Nazis are doing this or the reason we're here." When I look up at his face, I see that he's deadly serious. "Well, who else is there to blame?" I ask incredulously. Mutt shrugs. "Blame the Nazis. Blame Ox. Better yet, don't blame anyone." After ending his sentence, he starts to look forward again, not saying anything more on the subject. Mutt's words of wisdom were actually wise for Mutt. Maybe I should stop looking for someone to place the blame on. It's just so much easier. When you have someone to blame, you have someone to be mad at. I guess I was mad at myself.

The walk goes by fairly quickly. Before I know it, we're at the large, wooden door of the castle. My mind flashes to the Brunwald castle that Dad, Elsa and I visited to retrieve Grandfather. Well, Dad and I were trying to save Grandfather. Elsa had different plans. I shake my head. The memory is no use to me at the moment. Elsa is gone, Mom is here. Things are different. Dad steps up and puts his hand on the door carefully, examining it like the archaeologist he is. "I'd say this castle was built in the mid 1400s," he estimates. His hand runs down the middle of the door, like he's petting it. He's like this with all artifacts he comes across. It's like they're his children. Cautiously, he pushes on the door, ignoring the frail-looking handle. Slowly, the door creaks open. Looking back at us, he shrugs. "The handle would have broken." We all enter the castle, one after another in an orderly fashion. It's so old that I feel like one misstep could cause it to fall down on top of us. The inside is more well-preserved. The stone and marble are still in place, but it is stripped of most furniture and decorations that I imagine once lined it. Since it was built so long ago, we have no way of staying warm in it. The chill hits me immediately. "It's freezing in here," Mom points out, mirroring my thoughts. "We would have more cause for concern if it wasn't," Ox insists. True, but I'm shivering from the chill. Dad gently pushes my back as a sign to move forward. For once, he's following my lead and not the other way around. Slowly, I walk towards the stairs of the castle, keeping in mind that I shouldn't touch too many things. An old, abandoned palace must have many fragile parts to it. "I'd assume the bed-chamber is upstairs," Mom says to no one in particular. Gently grabbing onto the banister, I start to climb the stone steps of the stairs. I feel like an invisible force is compelling me towards the upper-floor. From the sound of footsteps behind me, I can safely guess that everyone if following me.

When I reach the hallway, I place my hand on the wall as I walk. I don't even know myself what I'm wishing to accomplish by doing this. It just feels right. My hand skims across the stone wall and several doors as I pass with my companions behind me. No one speaks. Do they expect me to be an expert because I found out that I was related to Queen Mary a few days ago? On the outside, I'm calm, cool, and collected. On the inside, I'm completely terrified by the amount of doors in this palace. There are WAY too many to decifer which one belongs to Queen Mary's former bedroom. We may have to check them all. Worse of all, this isn't the only hallway. In a rash moment, I push open the nearest door. Quickly, Mutt appears by my side and glides in front of me protectively. At first, my temper flares up as my mind yells that I can protect myself, but I remind my irrational self that he just cares. I won't let my fierce independence get in the way of things.

I look over Mutt's shoulder. The room is stripped of furniture, but I can tell that it was once a bedroom by the layout. A little stand and an indent in the wall show where a small altar once was. Dad told me something about those being in the rooms of castles way back when. A strong sensation comes over me and assaults my senses. I envision the room once being lavishly decorated with furs, silk, and a woman living in it. That woman is Queen Mary. "This was her room," I insist. "I can feel it." No one questions my statement. Slowly moving towards the altar, I place my hand on the stand. I assume they put something on it. Maybe a Bible or a candle or something along those lines. I look up to see everyone scattered about the room, looking for some place where the crown could be hidden. If it is in here, it's obviously not in plain sight. "Maybe it's imbedded somewhere in the stone," Mom suggests. "Queen Mary would have wanted her heir's crown to be slightly more accessible," Ox says, ruining Mom's theory. It must be possible to get, yet hard to find. Sallah's tapping on random stones, Dad's knocking on the walls to hear if any stones are hallow, and Mutt is examining the altar. Placing my hands on the stand from the back, I lift myself off the ground and sit on it. I start to feel myself sink. For a split second, I berate myself for ruining an ancient piece. When I jump off the stand, I realize that I was far from the truth.

"Guys... you need to see this."

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**A/N: Not much to say except... REVIEW, FOLLOW, FAVORITE! I'll see ya guys next time!**


	14. Chapter 14

**A/N: Okay, stuff's about to get INTESNSE, people. You ready? Cause I am. I've been waiting FOREVER to write these parts! YAAAHHH! Please REVIEW, FOLLOW, and FAVORITE! You know how much I love it when I get a review! They're so much fun to read. So, please leave a review.**

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I take a huge step back and just stare at the spot where the stand of the altar was. Yes, was, as in used to be, but not anymore. The stand has sunk down into the floor, revealing a sizeable, square shaped hole in its place. Everyone has gathered around me, staring at it like I am. Very clever, may I add. A trap door disguised as a religious sanctuary. Bravo, Mary. Suddenly, Dad steps forward and gets on his knees next to the hole. I hold my breath when he places his hand inside it to feel around. His whole arm eventually disappears into the hole, showing at least some of the depth, but probably not all. After his shoulder becomes partially buried in the opening, he sticks his head inside to inspect it further. When he resurfaces, he faces me. "Come here for a second, Char." I stumble forward, getting on my knees next to Dad, but staying completely still. He points from me to the hole, motioning for me to look inside it. Hesitantly, I lean over and stick my head almost fully inside it like he did. Though it is nearly pitch black and hard to make things out, I can just barely see a dirt covered floor that's just far enough to for someone of my small stature to stand on and not be too hard to pull back up. "Do you think it's buried at the bottom?" I ask Dad. He nods his head and reaches into his pocket. When he pulls out a lighter, I frown. "Remember what happened last time?" I ask sarcastically. Dad grins, shoving the lighter into my hand. "This is the perfect opportunity to see if you inherited any of your grandfather's bad luck. After all, your middle name means-" "Don't you dare!" I warn. Out of the corner of my eye, I can see Mom crack a small smile. I definitely do not want Mutt, Ox and Sallah to know what 'Desmona' means. Not right now, anyway. I, for one, never believed what my middle name means actually reflects who I am. At least, not most of the time.

I look around the room and am met with everyone staring back at me, waiting for me to take the plunge. Knowing that we have reached near the end of our journey, I feel almost indifferent to this one last task. I know it will be over and done with soon enough. Placing myself near the edge of the hole, I slide myself into it carefully. The fall isn't very long before I land at the bottom. Automatically, I straighten myself out and put my hands out to feel the walls surrounding me to determine how much room I have. Surprisingly, I have a good amount of space to stand and maneuver myself around. Either that or my small size makes it seem much larger than it really is. "What should I dig with?" I yell above to Dad. A medium-sized garden shovel Dad keeps in his satchel drops down next to me. Dad has every piece of equipment in the whole free world in his darn satchel. Grabbing the shovel, I get on my knees and feel around on the floor. I choose to ignore the lighter. The light isn't necessary. I dig the mini-shovel into the dirt floor, bringing it as far into the earth as my strength allows. Determinedly, I start to scoop upwards towards my face in order to rid it of the dirt. Once I get a scoop-full of dirt, I toss it to my side and hope I won't have to dig there too. I dig my shovel into the floor and start my process over again.

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How long has it been? Minutes? Hours? Days? Okay, maybe I'm being over-dramatic, but that's sure what it feels like right now. I have, I'd say, about thirty to fifty scoops of dirt next to me and a giant hole in the center of the floor. No crown. Not even a hint of a crown. No one has yelled down to ask me how I'm doing or if I found anything. Thanks, guys. Sighing heavily, I smash my shovel into the ground in aggravation, swearing that I'll give up after this one scoop. Setting aside the dirt I gathered, I notice a glint in the ground. I'm not too excited; it could be a lot of things that could make a reflection. I pick up my shovel and scrape it around against the source of the light to remove any dirt covering it. When it's uncovered, I see that it's a small lock, like one belonging to a jewelry box. Automatically, I quickly start to dig around the sparkling lock, desperately trying to uncover whatever it is that goes with it. Soon enough, my shovel hits something solid. Using whatever I just hit as a guide, I dig in the place where it is most likely to be. My heart beats wildly in excitement as something wood-based comes into view and I can feel the smile spread across my face. The scoops of dirt fly out of the ground like magic from my fast-paced digging. Finally, I shove my hands into the loosened dirt and pull the object out. Carefully, I brush the dirt off and run my hand over the surface. Even though I can't see very well, I can tell that it's a wooden chest by the feel of it. "I found something!" I yell up to everyone. No one asks me what I found. Instead, Dad lowers his whip for me to climb. I'm a pretty decent climber from Dad's teachings, but it looks a heck of a lot harder when you have something to carry. Tucking the chest under my arm, I jump onto the whip. The chest is still firmly under my arm by my clenching my upper arm together while my forearms are struggling to pull the rest of my weight up the whip. My hands are clinging tightly to the whip, turning my knuckles white. I was right; it is harder while carrying something. I just barely reach the above floor when my hand is gripped by Dad's stronger one. In seconds, I'm pulled out of the hole and onto the stone floor. I extract the wooden chest from under my arm and place it on the floor. Quickly, I open the latch and pry the top up. In the chest, sitting on satin lining, is a beautiful gold crown lined with jewels the size of someone's thumb and sparkling like it wasn't underground for centuries. There are three rows of jewels, all of them green, red, and blue. It's so beautiful and regal that I just want to reach out and touch it... I look away, ashamed that I was admiring something that is known to give its users an extreme thirst for power.

Ox slides forward on his knees. He looks like he's about to cry over this artifact he's been desperately searching for. He's even more dedicated to his artifacts than Dad, who has put himself in dangerous situations because of the artifacts he searches for. Rather hesitantly, I hand the crown over to Ox. My reluctance surprises even me. I claimed to have no interest in the crown, which I still claim now, but something about it transfixes you and lures you in. However, I'm happy to be rid of it. I'm not sure how much longer I could have gone with it in my hands. Ox examines it carefully in his hands, his eyes growing large. "All my life," he begins in a hushed whisper. "I have been searching for this all my life." Everyone backs away simultaneously to give Ox a moment with the crown. We exchange looks with each other, asking 'what the heck is wrong with him'. It's mildly creepy to see the way Ox treats the crown, almost like it's his child. I exchange another brief look with Mutt and see he's thinking the exact same thing; Ox is acting strange, even more than usual. Suddenly, Dad stands up and pulls me with him. "C'mon, Ox. We need to get outta here." Ox stands up shakily, never taking his eyes off the crown. Still clutching my hand, Dad starts to file out of the room with the rest of us following. In a single file line that I have no idea how we managed to make, we shuffle out of the room, down the hall, and towards the exit. "Ox, put that thing back in the box," I say to him, holding the wooden chest out so he can do exactly that. Ox carefully places the crown in the box. I surprise him by snapping it closed and bringing it back to my chest. Before Dad has a chance to open the door, a thought occurs to me. "Wait!" I call. Dad's hands leave the door and he looks at me. "What?" I point to the upper level. "Should we re-cover the hole in case the Nazis come here?" I suggest. If someone were to come here and see a giant hole in the floor, they would assume that someone, probably us, came here and got the crown already. Dad sighs. "Char, how would they find the location of the crown anyway?" he asks skeptically. That's a good point; Ox has been searching for the exact location for most of his life. I doubt the Nazis could do it in a few days.

I shrug. "Okay, fine. I guess we're safe. They'll probably never find this place," I say, stepping forward to continue. "I wouldn't be so sure of that," a voice I do not know responds. In the blink of an eye, Dad's gun is off his belt and in his hand, his body turned towards the back entrance where the voice came from. Three Nazis stand, their guns already cocked and at the ready. Dad and his one gun is no match for three gun-wielding German soldiers. They each have matching smirks on their lips. "Herr Jones, please put the gun down," one asks, feigning politeness. "We don't want to kill you, but we will if we have to." Dad hesitantly lowers the gun into its holster, glaring at them the whole time. The Nazi in the front of the other two smiles at him. "See? Was that so hard?" Dad rolls his eyes defiantly and crosses his arms over his chest. "So, are you going to give us to your Fuhrer, or are you going to just kill us right here?" His boldness does not shock or faze the men, who are most likely familiar with him by now. "Now, now, Herr Jones," one of them warns. "You know you are far too valuable to kill right now. Later, however… we'll see what happens." The only Nazi who has yet to speak strides forward and grips my arm forcefully. "Alright, where is the crown?" he asks me. Even though it is probably best to be docile in these situations, my attitude prevents me from doing so. "It's no use," I tell him. "You can't use the crown. It only works on certain people. Those certain people don't include you." He shakes his head at me. "We know that, dear. That's why _you're_ going to use it for us." He seems so sure of himself that he gives a little nod after his sentence, like he's telling himself he did well. "What makes you so sure that I'd agree to that?" I ask. Slowly, he looks over at his buddies and makes a small hand signal. They nod at him and walk over to Mutt, Dad, Mom, Ox, and Sallah. Quickly, one of them takes the crown out of Ox's grip and places it on the floor. Each soldier grips two people by the arm; one takes Mutt and Ox, and one takes Sallah and Mom. They all protest, but the Nazis keep a firm grip on them as they start to drag them away to the back entrance. Chaos insues; there's kicking, screaming, and resistance. Mom's thrashing wildly in the grip the Nazi has on her while Mutt is trying desperately to reach into his back pocket. On instinct, I lunge for them, but the third Nazi holds me back. "Char!" Mutt yells. "You can do it! Outsmart them!" Those are his last words before he's thrown out the door. It's only Dad and I with the soldier now.

The Nazi is holding a gun to Dad's head, while I stand across from him. He knows very well that I can't make a move without it costing Dad's life. "I'll make this very clear," he starts. "You are going to put on the crown and send a radio message out to our enemies with the words I choose. If you fail to comply or give me an order, I will press a panic button on my uniform. I will be able to withstand the pain for long enough to press it, and when I do, your friends out there…" He cocks his head to the door. "… will be history." I shiver involuntarily. His plot is flawless. I either follow his orders or my friends and family die. It's as simple as that. There's no loophole, no way out, and no negotiation. Finally, I nod to signal that I'll cooperate. The Nazi smiles evilly. "Good girl. Now, let's test your loyalty first." I snap my head up, confused by his words. What more could there be besides sending out a message that could win them the war? He reaches into his pocket and pulls out another gun, handing it to me. I weigh it around in my hands for a short amount of time and wonder what to do with it. "What's this for?" I ask. He doesn't answer. Instead, he starts to step sideways, getting a good distance away from Dad, but still being able to shoot him if needed. "Put the crown on," he orders. I sidestep to the box, keeping my eyes on Dad. He's trying not to look me in the eyes. I lift the top of the box up and pull out the crown. It's truly beautiful, but I'm trying not to look at it too hard. Something in the back of my mind is screaming that it is evil. Reluctantly, I place the crown on top of my head.

"Good, good. Now, face your father." I do as he says automatically. Shouldn't _I _be the one with the power? After all, I'm wearing the crown. "Your father has been very bad to our cause, Charlotte," the Nazi declares. "He's bad for Europe and for America. He leaves a trail of human wreckage behind him everywhere he goes. He must be done away with. Charlotte, shoot your father." My hand goes ridged. How could I shoot my own father, the man who raised me, my best friend? _'He deserves it.'_ No, no he doesn't! _'He'll back-stab you. He must be killed before he has the chance.' _"What's happening to me?!" I shout out loud. The Nazi smiles at me. "You don't have all the power, Charlotte. The crown has a mind of its own." My head starts to pound as each nasty thought creeps into it. _'You don't need your father.' 'He only gets in the way.' 'He tries to control you. You can make your own decisions.' _What's scary is that it's technically _me_ who's thinking these terrible things about Dad. I can feel the reasonable side of my brain separating from the other part of my brain with evil thoughts, like I'm becoming two different people. The real me is only in my head, not in my actions, which involve me raising the gun with a shaky hand. I'm pointing it at Dad. Inside, I'm almost crying. I'm about to kill my dad with my own hands, and there's nothing I can do to stop it. _'He needs to be stopped.'_ No, no, NO! Dad looks saddened, yet calm in the face of death. I don't know how I look. My eyes are probably black and emotionless while they look at him. I don't want Dad to see that before he dies. Straining, I push myself to bring the real me back the forefront of my mind. My head feels like it's being smashed with a hammer, but I push on. Finally, I feel myself returning, but the pain is worse than ever. The gun trembles in my hand and I can feel tears running down my cheeks. Dad looks at me sympathetically, even though he's about to be killed by his only daughter. "I love you," he says quietly. "I-" I try to get out, but the words don't come, no matter how hard I try. _'You don't love him.' _"Yes I do. Shut up!" _'He could never love you. He only loves himself.'_ "Shut up, shut up, shut up! Stop lying to me!" I feel my head banging like a drum, but my regular voice is returning to the surface as I argue with myself. I love my dad. I know he loves me. Why should I listen to the crown's voice? _'You. Will. Kill. Him.' _"N- No. I w- won't." My voice trembles. I don't want to kill Dad! The bad part is taking over again, pushing me further into darkness. It's like a tug-of-war between the two parts of my mind battling to control my actions. No matter how hard I fight, I seem to be losing. In despair, I realize that I'm killing Dad today. There's no way out. I cling on to his last words to me. _'I love you.'_ I wouldn't want them to be any different. At least it's something to cling to.I repeat them over and over again. _'I love you. I love you. I love you.'_ As if by magic, I feel some of the physical hold the crown had on me diminished. In my mind, I repeat to myself, _'My dad loves me, I love him, I would never hurt him, he would never hurt me.' _The more I repeat this mantra, the more of my real self I can feel reappear. The crown can control so much. It can control your actions, your thoughts, and maybe even your feelings, but the crown can't control love.

That's the key! I now know where Queen Mary failed. She did not have much love for her brutal husband, as most royalty in the 1500s didn't. She had no loyal family to love and despised her own sister. That's why the crown consumed her thoughts and actions. If she had only loved someone, anyone, she could have broken the control the crown had over her for that. It's too late for her, but not for me. _'I love Dad. I love Dad. I love Dad.' _The evil voice starts to fade away, along with the ebbing pain. My eyesight is clearer by the pain fading away. Dad is still standing across from me, despondence written on his face. I know what I must do, despite what the crown has been trying to tell me. I cock the trigger, still keeping my aim on Dad. He seems to have accepted his end. "Goodbye, Dad." I place my finger on the trigger and begin to pull. I can feel it preparing to shoot. However, at the last second, I change the position of the gun. It's now pointing at the Nazi. Before the stunned man can react, the bullet goes straight to his heart. His hand is lying limply near the panic button he had. It was, luckily, never pressed. I grab the crown and rip it off my head. It has no control over me now either way, but I prefer freedom.

Dad's staring at me with his mouth agape. "How did you do it?" he asks in a whisper. I can feel my mood softening from terror to adoration. The answer of how I beat the crown is right in front of me. "You," I answer softly. "If you hadn't told me you love me, I probably would have-" I don't finish my sentence. The thought of killing my own father is sickening. Dad walks over to me and wraps his arms around me. "Are you alright? Are you hurt?" he asks. "I'm fine." He holds me for a few seconds longer, which I appreciate immensely. All too soon, though, he pulls away and grabs my hand. "Let's go save everyone, one last time." I nod mischievously. "What's the plan?"

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**A/N: I hate that crown, don't you? :) I think I'm almost finished with this story, but when I do finish, I'll probably post random one-shots about the further adventures on Indy and Char (and maybe even the rest of the gang...). What can I say, I fell in love with Char! She's awesome! Please REVIEW, FAVORITE, and FOLLOW. I'm a total review nut; they're so much fun to read and I really appreciate them. Until next time, my lovely readers.**


	15. Chapter 15

**A/N: Sup, ya'll? My writing mind has been in OVERDRIVE lately! I have a bunch of ideas for Indiana Jones fanfics! I want to get through this one first, though. I've been noticing a lack of feedback lately, though. Please, don't be shy. Feel free to leave your opinion in a review or even a PM. I've gone about three chapters with no feedback at all and honestly, it's scaring me a bit. Oh, and as a warning, for those of you who have seen _'The Young Indiana Jones Chronicles'_, this chapter will include some things from that show, but you don't have to see it to understand.**

**And special thanks to EMERALD69 (or Kake, for those of you who read her stories) for giving me all this info about Europe's history!**

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"Are you sure this will work?"

"Yes, Char, I'm positive."

"That's a pretty weak plan, though…"

"What? I thought it was pretty good, if I do say so myself."

"You seriously can't think of anything more fool-proof?"

"I'm making it up as I go!"

"How many times have I heard you say that?"

"Well, it's true."

"Fine, fine, but if it doesn't work, don't blame me."

"What about it is so bad?! I swear…"

"Oh, just do it already before we end up killing each other over this!"

Dad shushes me and points his gun at the other Nazi through the bushes out in the back of the palace. His plan is to shoot the gun out of his hand and then deliver the killer shot. It seems too simplistic compared to some of the things we've been doing lately, but I guess I should live by Dad's motto and make this up as I go, meaning nothing too elaborate has to be planned. The Nazi who's keeping his guard on Sallah, Mutt, Mom, and Ox is terribly ill-prepared. He's barely paying attention to them, instead choosing to keep a gun aimed at the line of their heads while he looks at the back entrance impatiently, waiting for his now-dead buddy. Everyone else looks just as impatient and bored as him as they stand awkwardly, twiddling their thumbs and shuffling around in their spots. Dad cocks his gun and gets ready to deliver the first shot. I watch behind him as he sets his plan into action. Very carefully and rather slowly, he pulls back the trigger. I cover my ears just in time for the shot to ring out. The Nazi has dropped his gun in a hurry while he grabs his injured hand and curses up a storm. Dad cocks the gun yet again, but it looks like that won't be needed. I tap his shoulder to get his attention and then point up at our friends. Mom and Mutt have already seized the opportunity and pounced on the un-armed man. Mutt has his hands behind his back and Mom is searching his uniform. Sallah and Ox are just standing by, astounded by the courage Mom and Mutt have for daring to tackle a Nazi, even one with no defenses. When Mom comes up short on his uniform, Sallah simply shrugs, steps forward, and punches him square in the face. Sallah is a big, burly man; I'm guessing that no punch of his is anything less than extremely painful. So, as I thought, the Nazi crumples to the ground. He shows no sign of standing up; he must be out cold. Without another thought, I run out of the bushes and run towards them. If there were any other soldiers stationed nearby that I had not known about, I would surely be dead by now because of my impulsiveness. However, I'm still here, so I guess I made a fine decision.

Almost on instinct, I launch myself at Mutt. Even _I'm _wondering why my first reaction was to hug Mutt of all people, even though Mom frisked the Nazi and Sallah punched him. I feel Mutt wrap his arms around me in a reaction to being hugged. Surprisingly, he lifts me up off the ground as he hugs me. A little squeal leaves me when I'm lifted up. I don't squeal. I'm not a squealer. I'm not sure how Mutt elicited such a sound from me. Mutt sets me down on the ground, but keeps his arms around my waist. "That was amazing!" I exclaim. He shrugs modestly. "It was alright. I mean, he was injured and he didn't have a gun. So, y'know, it was pretty easy." "But you know he's a Nazi!" I insist. "What if he had another gun on him? What if he had a knife? What if he pressed a button and another Nazi leaped out of-" "Are you writing a book?" Mutt asks sarcastically. I scowl in response to his question. "And what if I am? It could be all about the idiot greaser who helped defeat a Nazi." Mutt chuckles and releases me from his hold. "I'll be the first in line to buy it, babe," he says. "Okay, let's get out of here," Dad interjects quickly. Of course he was bothered by Mutt calling me 'babe'. I'm surprised he has yet to talk to Mutt about his slang directed towards me. If I found out he has, I'll be ticked off. Mutt doesn't mean anything by it. Besides, I don't think it would even matter if he _did_ mean something by it. I turn to Dad. "Yeah, let's get out of here before things get even worse. If that's possible."

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"Where are we exactly?" I ask Dad. We've been driving for hours and hours. Before that, we were brought to a small airport, sat on a plane, and told that we were leaving England. When I asked Dad then where we were going, he smiled a little to himself and answered 'To see a friend.' I was so exhausted that I nodded and fell right asleep. Now, I'm actually awake and curious. "You'll see when we get there," Dad answers this time. "Can you at least tell me what country we're in?" I ask. How peculiar is it to not even know what country you're in currently? It's like not knowing what year it is. Dad looks back at me, sighing slightly. "We're in France. Now can you stop asking so many questions and just let me drive?" I lean back in my seat and roll my eyes. "Fine." I turn to Mutt, who's sitting to my right. I nearly laugh when I see him; he's dead asleep, having insisted on the plane that he wasn't tired. I giggle a little and lay my head on his shoulder to see if it will wake him up. He simply tilts his head a little in his sleep, resting it on top of mine. The position is actually quite comfortable, but Ox is on the other side of me, and Sallah is on the other side of Mutt. I'm cuddling up to a boy near my godfathers and with my parents in the front seat. Quickly, I bring my head back to its normal position and look straight ahead. I shake any thought of Mutt's soft shoulder out of my head. Why am I even mentioning the fact that it's soft? Sure, it is, but why should I care? It's not like I…. You know what, I'll just drop this subject.

I recline back in my chair and _don't _think of Mutt. Not at all. I think of… everything but him. For example, I think of where we're going. Like Dad told me, we're going to see one of his old friends. Many of them are either in this car or dead. Of course, I'm talking about his _close_ friends. He's been all over the world and has made many friends. I can't think of many I know who didn't already pop up and join us. Except for Mr. Brody, but I imagine that he's still in America with Grandfather. It doesn't seem there is anyone else who fits the 'old friend' description. Unless…. No, no way. I refuse to consider it. If this 'old friend' is Willie Scott, I'm walking to the nearest fish port and hitching a ride to the coast. I don't care if it's only for a few days or even a few hours. Nothing could make me spend any amount of time in a room with her ever again, not since Dad was 'seeing' her. Is it bad to say that she was more annoying than Elsa? Okay, Elsa was more cold-hearted, but Willie is just flat-out annoying and shrill. I hope it's not her that I have to be polite to and pretend to enjoy the company of.

"We're here," Dad announces. When I look over at the people I'm sitting near, I realize Mutt is still fast asleep and showing no sign that he heard Dad's announcement. I shake Mutt's shoulder gently. "Mutt… Mutt, it's time to get up." He swats at my hand subconsciously. "Five more minutes…" he mumbles groggily. I laugh and lean in closer to his ear. "We don't have five minutes, hon." One of his eyes flies open. When it lands on me, the other one opens. He cracks a sleepy smile. "So, it's 'hon' now? I thought the nicknames were my thing." I groan, regretting my choice of words. He can turn the smallest thing into something else entirely. It's irritating, yet it's uniquely him. "You're impossible!" I announce. Mutt smirks and swoops in, kissing my cheek as he sits up. "You bet I am," he responds. Did he just kiss my cheek _again_? I can feel the heat rise to my cheeks as I look away in an attempt to hide it. I'm turned towards Ox, who is smiling presciently. What is he, some kind of fortune teller? Kisses on the cheek are strictly friendly. "We want to get there _today_, people," Dad declares sarcastically, his door already open. "We're working on it!" Sallah and Ox open the door next to them. I climb out on Ox's side and Mutt on Sallah's. As soon as I stand on the pavement, my legs start to wobble from being in a sitting position too long. Combined with my natural clumsiness, I start to fall down. Mutt suddenly appears behind me and holds my arms up. "Steady, doll." I jump slightly at his voice. "God, where the heck did you come from?" I ask in shock. Mutt blinks at me like I'm insane and looks back to where we were, then back to me. "Umm, the car?" I sigh heavily and move on, walking with Dad and the others.

I've never been to France, but it's sure beautiful. Green surrounds us, but the roads are slightly hidden behind them. I hear Dad sigh longingly next to me, his arm around Mom's waist. "I haven't been here since World War I ended." I still find Dad's war stories very interesting, mostly because he rarely talks about them. I always have to coax a few memories out of him whenever my interest in it becomes renewed. "Why were you here?" I ask Dad. He looks down at me a ruffles my hair playfully. "I was a translator for the Treaty of Versailles, Kiddo. My dad taking me all over the world when I was younger paid off. I was there when it was signed and saw how hated the Germans were. They took everything away from them. Their military was taken away, their pride along with it, and they had to pay damages to the countries around them. France was especially hard on them. During the war, Germany showed France no mercy, so France returned the favor." A thought occurs to me. If they had no military, why is there a war going on right now? "But, if they were destitute and had no military, why are they still a threat?" I ask. "When Hitler took over, he just kinda…" Dad pauses, looking for the right words. "He just rebuilt it. No one stopped him, probably because they realized how hard they had been on Germany. The Treaty caused mass debt. It took millions of German marks to buy one loaf of bread. People had to carry around money in wheelbarrows just to do their daily shopping. Things were bad, so everyone looked past the military. I guess the Treaty is kinda the reason there's a war going on right now…" Ironic, isn't it? A treaty meant to prevent further wars just caused a new one to start up. "It's odd to think about," Mom starts. "When you were a soldier returning from war, I was just turning ten." Dad groans. "Don't remind me! It makes me feel like some creep to be married to a woman who I started seeing when she was a teenager." Dad never kept the age difference between them a secret, but it's still odd to think about the fact that their relationship had to be kept a secret at one point because it was illegal. I don't even want to think about what Dad would do if I started dating a 26 year old. Okay, bad image, bad image!

A small stroll through a public park brings us to a neighborhood with beautiful, Victorian style houses sitting one right after the other, separated by some bushes and white picket fences. It's a picture perfect place to live, something that you'd see on a postcard. You know it's not as perfect as it seems, but the look draws you in. "Wait, that's the house," Dad insists. We all come to a halt in front of a blue, Victorian-style home. It has a welcoming garden and a light aura to it. Usually women maintain gardens, but I'm still praying Willie isn't the person we're meeting. Dad steps up in front of us as we approach. Using the door-knocker-thingy that is on the door (nice touch, may I add), he knocks on the door. As we wait for an answer, I stare out at the lilies and roses in the garden. It's quite beautiful. I wish I had the patience to maintain a garden, but I would probably get frustrated within the first day of gardening and quit. I'm too hot-headed for that. I feel Mutt nudge me, bringing my attention back to what was happening previously. Dad is embracing someone at the door. When I stand up on my toes, I see a boy with black hair on the other side. They break apart and Dad grasps his hand. "You have no idea how good it is to see you, Shorty!"

Ah, so this is the elusive Short Round I've heard about! Dad's child sidekick whom he legally adopted, but kept in Europe with some friends. Well, he's no child anymore. I think he's older than me, if my math is correct. "It's good to see you too, Doctor Jones, especially still in one piece!" Dad laughs and shakes his head. "Well, I do try. I have some people to introduce you to like I said earlier." So this isn't a surprise visit. Dad planned this. He motions to Mom, who's still by his side. "This is my wife, Marion." Mom smiles at Short Round, who gives her a polite nod. "This is my friend, Sallah," Dad begins. "My old mentor, Harold Oxley." He peeks behind Ox, who begins moving over. "There's the son of one of my old friends, Mutt Williams." Dad finally motions to me. "And that's my daughter, Charlotte." Short Round smiles at me. "Please, call me Char," I tell him. "You look very much like your father. I should have guessed right away." I guess that's a compliment since Dad's a very good looking man. I thank him as he leads us inside.

The inside is just as beautiful as the outside. It's decorated tastefully and with care. Paintings hanging in just the right spots, statues here and there, and various other things line the house. Looking at Short Round, I can't believe this is his house. How did he do this? Even Dad can't do this with my help, and God knows Dad has a lot of crap lying around the house that he could use to decorate it with. Heck, we already have a bunch of artifacts everywhere. I've always been the decorator and cook of the house, though. "How's it been, Shorty?" Dad asks. Short Round laughs fondly as he sits down on the couch. It's obvious that the two have been through a lot together in the past. I just wish Dad had told me about some of it so I wouldn't have to rely on what little information I currently have. "I'm just the same as I've been for the past few years. I have my job and the house. Not much else. Well, not since Remy…" Short Round pauses to sigh. "What about Remy?" Dad asks hesitantly. Shorty's face shows nothing but sympathy, and I dread what he's going to say. "Remy… he died a few years ago. He had a heart attack. I'm sorry, Doctor Jones. To be honest, I'm surprised he lived this long. I know I should have contacted you, but I just… I couldn't." Dad remains silent with a look of unbelievable shock on his face, like when he found out Colin was dead. I don't know who Remy is, but he seems important. My heart aches for Dad and Short Round over their loss, and I don't even know what the loss is yet.

"Short Round… If you don't mind me asking, who's Remy?" I didn't ask Dad out of respect. He just found out about the man's death, why should I bother him with my curiosities? Short Round opens his mouth to respond, but Dad interjects, "He was my friend. We fought in the war together in the Belgian army." The _Belgian _army? Dad has always been honest about the fact that he harbors a lot of secrets, but I never knew they were this interesting. "Why the Belgian army?" Mutt asks, mirroring my thoughts. Dad sighs heavily, and his eyes scan everyone in the room. "I'll tell you later." I wish I could know now, but now's not the time. "Shorty…" Dad begins. "I know we had the deal about you flying us all out of Europe, but I was thinking…. Would you like to come with us and live with me for a while? It must be lonely here, being all by yourself, and I already have Ox and Sallah staying with me until they have the chance to get back to their homes safely." He looks at Mutt. "And I don't know what _you're_ doing, but the invitation is open for you too." Short Round looks conflicted. I would be too if I had built a life for myself elsewhere. "I can make sure the house is taken care of for you," Dad reassures. Shorty looks around his home, his eyes lingering on certain details that look like they took a while to get there, like some paintings and knick-knacks. Eventually, a smile spreads across his face. "Sure. I need to live a little, right?" Dad immediately gets up and shakes his hand with a grin on his face. "You won't regret it, Shorty. You'll love America. Remember when I promised to take you there all those years ago? I told you I'd come through for ya. Don't I always?" Another week, another person…. Strangely enough, I don't mind the fact that he's going to be living with me. He seems like a kind person so far, and he obviously means a lot to Dad. I'm just glad we have yet to encounter Willie Scott!

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**A/N: I really think I'm nearing the end. Don't cry, though! Char, Indy, Marion, Mutt and everyone else in all their awesomeness will be back in some one-shots I will probably post periodically. YAAAAAHHHHH! So, please favorite, follow, and last of all, please review. I needs me some feedback!**


	16. Chapter 16

**A/N: Heeeeeyyyyy! I swear, I'm near the end! I'm not sure exactly when that end will be, but it's coming. Oh, and a special thank you to Epic Studios USA for following me! I hope you don't mind if I ask, but... which one of you is following me? Thanks to Bulldog95 for reviewing again! It means a lot to me, since NO ONE ELSE IS REVIEWING (cough, cough, *jerks*, cough, cough).**

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This whole experience is coming to a close soon, or so I've been told. According to Dad, Shorty will fly us out on a plane tomorrow. Is it odd that I'm slightly disappointed I'm going back to my normal life? Sure, I didn't enjoy being in constant danger or nearly killing my own father, but I did enjoy the adventure of travelling to England, finding a crown, and making a few new friends. Life back home is nice, and it certainly is full of surprises, but it's boring compared to a life like Dad's. I never thought I'd say this, but I want to lead a life like Dad's. I want to be like him and travel the world, finding archaic relics and learning more about different cultures. I've never wanted anything more in my life. It's almost like Dad can hear my thoughts, because he comes and sits down next to me on the porch. It's dark outside, but the candles burning keep it slightly light. "How ya doing, Kiddo?" he asks. I shrug, not even sure if he can see me. "Fine, I guess." He scoots closer to me on the patio couch and puts his arm around me. "Hey. Everything okay?" he asks again. I look back up at him. His face is more worn when he's concerned, which is even evident in the light. He's always claimed that Mom's 'death' caused him to age quicker, but to me and most of his female students, he's still young and handsome. He's fought in a war, has many secrets, and lives dangerously, but to me, he'll always be my dad, not the mysterious man everyone else sees when they look at him. My curiosity starts up again, furiously turning the wheels in my brain. "Can you tell me why you fought in the Belgian army?" I finally ask. In the dim light, I can clearly see Dad's signature lopsided grin making an appearance. "So you remembered." I nod, still waiting for an answer.

Dad sighs, facing me and holding my hands in his. "Char… I've told you before that your grandfather and I were once on even worse terms than we are now. There was a time when we didn't even speak to each other. The events that led up to it are the reasons we became so awkward around each other." He pauses before continuing on, "We were visiting my mother's family in Utah for a while. She had been dead for a long time by then, so we didn't see them as often as we would have liked to. It was so close to the border that you could walk to it if you tried. My cousin convinced me to visit the border with him. Long story short, I crossed that border and ended up in Mexico. Mexico was in the middle of a revolution at the time. It was a dangerous place to be, especially for a non-soldier. The soldiers who found me had me lined up along a wall with others they had rounded up to be shot. I pleaded with them in Spanish, but they were ready to shoot. I was sure I was gonna die. Suddenly, a guy on a horse appears out of nowhere and starts berating them for trying to kill innocent people. That man was Pancho Villa." I raise my eyebrows. Dad has no reason to lie, but meeting Pancho Villa is a little far-fetched. Then again, Dad _was_ friends with T.E. Lawrence. "I swear to God, it was him. It was that same place that I started to talk to a man who I realized spoke French. So did I, so I started to speak to him in his native language. He was grateful because no one else there spoke it. He told me his name was Remy and he was Belgian. Now, I don't know about you, but I thought it was kinda weird that a Belgian was fighting in the Mexican revolution, right? They brought me with them to their next camp, where I asked him about his involvement in the revolution. His wife, Lupe, was a Mexican who was killed by…" He trails off with a look of concentration on his face.

"I can't even remember what killed her." He sounds sad at the thought of losing a little piece of his memory. That happened to me with Mom, but every time it did, I would just go through her box of things and refresh my memory. "Anyway, he avenged her by joining the revolution. I was such a hot-head, so impulsive. I was _you_, but a few years older. I joined the revolution and rode with Pancho and his men. And let me tell ya, it was thrilling. We were constantly on the move, fighting or looting places. I mean, it was a rush at first. I knew I was helping a cause and I finally got the adventure I was craving. I was out of my dad's control and on my own. I don't know what I wanted to prove. I just wanted to feel like I was doing something right, something important. Eventually, though… it grew old and tiresome. I felt bad about the looting and the killing. I felt like some of the soldiers were a little too passionate while I wasn't. It wasn't even my cause! These soldiers were fighting for their rights, but I wasn't fighting for mine. Remy felt the same way too. He was Belgian, I was American. We just didn't fit in there. The final straw came when I talked to an old man whose village we were looting for food. He was raving about us taking his chickens. I told him that armies need to eat and that he could get more chickens later. He sat down and told me that every time a revolution happens, he loses his chickens. He always believes it's for the good of the army and that he'll get more chickens later, and he always does, but they come and take them again and he has to start over. No matter what leader they have, which one they overthrow, and who leads them, he always loses his chickens. Always."

It's such a powerful message that comes from something as simple as losing chickens. It doesn't matter what the revolution is for. It will always cause the citizens to lose in some way. "Remy and I decided to leave at sunup the next morning. He was joining the Belgian army and wanted me to come with him. I said yes. It didn't matter to me how I fought in World War I, just as long as I fought in it. I felt I had finally found my true cause. We left for the coast, trying to hitch a ride on a steamboat for Europe. From there, we got to Belgium with some difficulty. I lied about my identity so I could join and then we were off. Fighting for Belgium was the right choice in my eyes. The other countries all had other reasons to fight in the war. Either they were backing up a country they were friends with that got threatened, they had a bone to pick with Germany, or they were doing this because they felt compelled to. Belgium was being threatened by Germany and had little to no defenses. They were fighting for survival. No hidden agenda, no selfish reasons. They were doing this to save themselves. I felt it was the most noble reason for me to fight."

I'm finally finding out about some of Dad's past, yet I don't know how to feel about it. It certainly is odd like I guessed it would be, but I have no change in thought about Dad. He's just the same as he always was. His past could include _anything_ and I would still view him in the same light as before; a single father who works his butt off to provide for me and himself while still being a loving and attentive parent. Well, I guess he's not a single father anymore. That is assuming Mom comes to live with us, which I think is the most likely scenario. Even though they haven't seen each other since a few months after I was born, they act like they were never separated. Every time I go over to a friend's house and see how their parents act together, I always come home jealous. I envy the fact that they have two parents, that they have a mother to guide them through each stage of life. Dad has always made up for my motherless-ness, but I still wanted a mom desperately. The fact that I have one now still makes me smile when I think about it. "Thanks for telling me." Dad messes with a hair a bit and smiles. "No problem, Kiddo. With everything that's been happening, I thought you outta know." I laugh a little. 'Everything that's been happening' doesn't even begin to cover it. "Yeah, with Mom making an appearance and all…" Dad instinctively gets closer to me and tightens his arm's grip around my shoulder. "I know it's not something that you can get used to in a day and you're gonna have to have time to adjust, but this doesn't change anything between us, okay? You're still my little girl." I'm going to be 40 and still be his 'little girl'. "I know, Dad." But I'm totally okay with that.

* * *

"I never thought I'd say it," Dad yells over the sound of the plane. "I'm actually scared to ride in this thing." Dad- the man who flew on a plane he had no idea how to land and has used about every mode of transportation in the world in order to get his sorry butt out of bad situations- is scared to ride in a plane. Shorty looks back from the ramp. "Why do you say that, Doctor Jones?" he asks, looking mildly offended at Dad's jab at the plane's safety. "Because the last plane ride I was on ended badly!" Understatement of the century! We crashed and nearly died. "Oh, don't be a baby, Jones," Mom yells. "It's only a plane!" Dad grins at her and pulls her to his side. "You can't last name me anymore, sweetheart. It's your last name too!" Mom smirks and leans in closer to him. "It's been for sixteen years, but I still did it back then." The two laugh, showing that the 'last name' thing goes farther back for them. Watching them laugh with each other brings a small smile to my face. Gosh, I really _am_ getting soft. I jump when I feel an arm slink around my waist. When I look to my side, I'm relieved to find it's only Mutt. "Man, you really gotta stop sneaking up on me like that," I say jokingly. Mutt smirks and feigns an innocent look. "Oh, I was sneakin' up on ya? I'll make sure I'm louder next time." I roll my eyes, but still make no attempt to get out of his hold. It's actually kinda comfortable.

"I'd like to get this thing out of the country _today_, people," Shorty announces. Mutt separates from me and goes ahead. "I think I've been here for long enough." It's like we're all just remembering that it's time to leave. Maybe we were trying to prolong it just a bit more. "We're coming, Short-stuff!" Dad yells. I can't count how many names he's called him on this trip; Short Round, Shorty, Short-stuff, his very unpronounceable given name. The two were bickering in Chinese over a card game earlier today. Shorty was a part of this family before _I_ was. Dad comes up to me and places his arm around my shoulder, while his other rests on Mom's. "You guys ready to go home?" he asks. Mom rolls her eyes at the ridiculous question and nods. I, however, just shrug a little and murmur, "I guess…" Dad knows me better than anybody. He knows that something's not quite right, but he lets it go for the moment. "Good. You know, we'll have quite a few extra people in our house now. You're one of them, sweetheart." Mom scowls at him, raising her eyebrow slightly. "Is that right? Well, if it wasn't for Ox and Char, you would have burned the house down by now!" Dad laughs and shrugs. "Probably. Good thing you're back now so I won't get the chance, right?"

* * *

Shorty sure is a good pilot. Well, only if 'good' implies landing our plane right in the middle of a cornfield somewhere in New Jersey, which, oddly enough, is where Dad grew up. He couldn't land it a few states north. No, he just _had_ to land it in freaking New Jersey, hundreds of miles away from our home. As Dad pointed out, Grandfather lives here, though, so there's one convenience right there. However, transporting seven people somewhere with nothing but a plane isn't going to be easy.

"Should we hitch-hike?" Mutt asks after we drag ourselves out of the cornfield. Dad shakes his head quickly. He always tells me that no matter where I am, no matter how badly I need to get home, I should _never _hitch-hike. He has enough courage to face the entire German army more than once, but he refuses to hitch-hike. _Go figure_. "Hitch-hikers are always the bodies people find in the woods." Sallah and Ox turn to stare at him incredulously. Even I have to admit that he sounded totally paranoid. He stares back at them, his eyes narrowing. "What? Did either of _you_ ever think it was safe?" he asks. They drop their stares and nod to themselves. "Anyway," I interject after getting tired of the useless talk. "I don't think anyone would want to pick up seven people anyway. We could walk, but it could take a long time to reach Grandfather's house. Anyone have any other ideas?" No one speaks, not even Dad. I can't believe it. If Dad can't think of a way out, I'm convinced that no one can.

Grumbles of brainstorms from everyone in the group start to sound off, but no one dares to step up and introduce their idea to the all of us. They all look at each other, mentally wondering who will come up with our next step. Finally, Dad, having won the mental debate, sighs and raises his hand to signal us to be silent. "I suggest we walk as far as we can all manage, then we'll look for a home with a good sized barn. Maybe we can convince whoever lives there to give us shelter for the night. All else fails, we could try to find an abandoned barn. All in agreement?" Shorty begins to open his mouth, but Dad glowers at him, letting his exhaustion and lack of patience show. "I _dare_ any of you to try arguing with me. I'm tired, pissed off, and definitely not in the mood to repeat myself. Just. Try. Me." Dad's voice is down to a low growl, so Shorty shuts his mouth. None of us are stupid enough to take Dad up on his offer.

Dad's bad mood vanishes as soon as it began, and a smile spreads across his face. "It's good to see we all agree. Now, let's get going before it gets too dark." I look up at the sky as we start walking. It's that odd time of the day where it's not dark, but not completely light. Things are winding down, and the air is cooler. I've always loved this time of day, but of course, it's the time that lasts the least amount of time. Night stretches on forever, daylight is never ending, and this time is always fleeting, but wonderful. Mutt's familiar hand grasps mine as I look up. "It's beautiful, isn't it?" he asks. I stare at him, astonished that he said something slightly intelligent. For some reason unknown, even to me, I don't snap back with a witty comeback. Instead, I give him a smile and nod. "It's always been my favorite time of day. Everything's so calm and the weather is always so nice, especially in summer." Mutt looks as shocked as I was a few seconds ago as he looks back at me. "I thought I was the only one who thought that this time in summer was the best!" he exclaims. I shrug and grin, looking away from him. "You're never the only one, Mutt." I wait for a response. Time passes, and I get none. I snap my eyes back to Mutt, who I see has a devilish grin on his face.

"What?" Mutt raises his eyebrows like I should already know the answer. "You called me Mutt. Not Greaser Boy, or idiot, or any of that jazz. You actually used my name." At first, I almost laugh and deny calling him anything but Mutt. Something stops me, though. Looking back on it, I think I actually do call him an assortment of nicknames most of the time instead of his actual name. One time, I even called him by his full name, Henry Walton Williams. "It fits you," I declare. He leans in a little closer to me as we walk. "Really? What do ya mean?" I shrug a little bit, trying to think of a reason. "I mean... 'Mutt' means an animal that's a mix, right? They're special, different… That's what you are. You're…. different." When I see he looks unconvinced, I quickly add in, "In a good way!" Mutt seems to weigh it around in his mind for a little while, finally looking back at me with a smile on his face. "Thanks, Char. Y'know, you're pretty special. And you're just pretty, too." I roll my eyes, but inside, I'm blushing. "C'mon," I urge him. "We should catch up with the others. We have a lot of walking to do."

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**A/N: Let's make a deal; you review, and I try my best to incorporate your opinion in my story. For the past 4 or 5 chapters, I've gotten one review. One. C'mon, guys, I need feedback!**


	17. Chapter 17

**A/N: Hello, people! Once again, I'd like to give shoutouts: A big thank you and virtual hug to jess114, dianasam, dogloverlisathekud, .Paradise, Sammyangel, rebekinha90, slytherinsnake88, and YoungestSolo (your username goes with my photo... I'm jealous you thought of it first) for the favorites and follows! Thank you to Fluffymonkeyz27 for the review and favorite (Thanks! You're too nice! I'm glad you liked it and it always brings a smile to my face when people tell me they enjoyed it that much). Thank you to the random guest reviewer, too! And, as always, a huge thanks to my loyal reviewer, Bulldog95. You want a DEATH?! Well, I guess I COULD use something like that... However, I rule out the zombie storyline, no matter how much I was tempted to put it in ;) And thank you to the guest reviewer go complimented me. Thanks for telling your friends about it! Without further ado, enjoy the chapter that I worked SUPER HARD ON (and remember to leave your opinion in the reviews, please).**

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The evening has turned into a quiet, peaceful night. I can hear the crickets chirping and the subtle, sonorous sounds of the countryside, as opposed to the sound of honking cars you would hear in the city, or the sound of dogs barking as you would hear in my suburban neighborhood. Our pace has slowed down to a sluggish crawl as we near complete darkness. My feet ache, my heels feel heavy, my legs burn, but I'd never admit it. Instead, I push on and ignore the pain in my feet and the sharp twinges in my stomach. Mutt is holding my hand while walking beside me. His pace is similar in its slowness, but of course, he's stubborn like me. Neither of us has uttered even one complaint. I don't imagine Dad's a cheery mood right now, so I would rather not risk it. Even _I_ try not to challenge Dad when he's in a bad mood. However, some people don't fear his attitude. "This is getting ridiculous, Indy," Mom declares. Dad looks over Mom, who's at his waist, and raises his eyebrows. "Ridiculous, huh? How so?" His tone is even, but I can tell he's slightly fed up. "I thought our plan was to walk until we found a house with a good sized barn. We've passed about fifty of those, and it's night. What are our chances of finding a home where someone will actually answer the door now? Everyone's asleep!" Looking around, I see a few houses that are spaced out. They all have barns. Now I'm wondering myself why we didn't stop like we planned to.

Dad sighs and I swear I can see him roll his eyes slightly. "Fine. Let's pick a house to try out. Remember, we're in the country. Most of these people probably own shotguns." I quickly run up and get in front of Dad. "That's why I should go up in front of you all. Who's someone more likely to shoot; a teenage girl, or a suspicious looking grown man?" Dad stutters, trying to come up with a counter argument, and eventually just huffs. "I'm not suspicious looking…." Mom chimes in with, "You kinda are." Dad just puts his hand on my back and pushes me forward. "Choose a house, sweetheart. Just be quick, but careful about it." I don't think it's possible to tell who will be hostile by the home they live in, but I try it out anyway. My eyes scan all the surrounding farms judgmentally. One I decide is too small, one too…. Creepy? No, more like it's too dilapidated.

Exasperated, I point at a red house with a similarly red barn. "That one," I tell Dad. He's as tired as me at this point. We've been walking for at _least_ two or three hours, after all. Dad shrugs indifferently. "Fine. Let's go and hope they don't bite." _'Yeah, reeeaaallll comforting, Dad'_, I think to myself. The short walk to the home of whoever I chose is more relieving, knowing that there is a 50/50 chance that we won't be walking anymore. The other chance is that we won't be welcomed warmly, but I don't dwell on that fact. From what I've been told, I can be pretty convincing.

The first knock results in nothing. No one answers, probably because they're asleep. Who wouldn't be at this hour? I wait a little while and then knock again. I hear someone give an exhausted sigh behind me. "Babies…" I mutter under my breath. I'm tired, cranky and in no way in the mood to deal with complaints. I hear a lock click open and I stand at attention. Several more locks click; that's certainly a bad sign. Who has this many locks for their front door, especially in such a secluded area? It's not really needed, but paranoia makes people do crazy things sometimes.

The door opens a tiny bit and I can see someone looking out of the small space, staring at me. I guess the sight of a small, teenage girl is enough to make them open the door completely to greet me. It's an older man with an over-worn white shirt on and blue stripped lounge pants. He looks tired and dazed, like he just got out of bed to answer the door. "Who are you?" he asks, his voice groggy with sleep. Politely and with a smile on my face, I begin, "Nice to meet you, Sir, my name is Charlotte, and my friends and I are kinda stranded here after a slight… plane malfunction. We've been walking all day and we need a place to rest if we want to get to New Jersey. We saw you have a barn and we were wondering if maybe we could stay there?" He eyes me up and down suspiciously. "Just for tonight, of course," I add hastily. There's no harm in a little extra words to convince him. The strange man eyes me suspiciously again, surveying all of us. I start to curse myself inwardly, thinking I blew it. Just as I'm about to apologize effusively for my intrusion, the man cracks a small smile and laughs a little.

"Why, I hasn't seen such a' odd bunch here since I's a youngin'. Y'all a' pretty funny lookin', ya know that?" I tilt my head, trying to determine why someone living on a farm in _New Jersey _sounds like a hillbilly rather than an annoying Yankee. I'm not one to judge when I am one of those Yankees. He waves us off. "Y'all can bunk in my barn. Just don't go messin' with stuff." We all sigh in relief at the same time. "Thank you, Sir. Thank you so much." He smiles broadly and brushes me off. "It's nothin'. An' call me Willy, 'kay?" I nod. At this point, I'd call him Adolf Hitler if it got me a place to sleep. "Okay… Willy. We'll be gone in the morning." The walk to the barn is the most rewarding walk I've ever taken.

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_I'm walking off the white cliff in a darkened setting. Slowly, slowly, as I walk backwards, my footing slips. I'm falling…. Falling…. Failing…_

My body jerks, flailing my arms and legs around for a second before I jolt up. Realizing I've just woken up after little sleep, I feel a deep scowl indent itself into my face. I was sleeping better than I have in quite a while, but my subconscious decided to mess with me. I stubbornly lay back down and command myself to sleep. My mind drifts off to places unknown, and I feel myself relax. I'm tired, and my body is ready to crash. I think I'm doing well, until I see a pitchfork and realize my eyes are still open. I guess I'm just that stupid. Everyone else around me is fast asleep, their breathing even and steady. Mom is lying on Dad's chest, and he has his arm wrapped around her waist. Mutt is on his back with his arms to the side and his legs straight, like a doll a child put down. Sallah is on his stomach like an otter and Ox looks like a gentlman, even in his sleep. How is that even possible? As for Shorty, his arms and limbs are all over the place. Standing up quietly, I begin to back away and so I can sneak out. After all, what use is it to lay here in this dirty, straw filled barn when I can't sleep? I slip my body through the opening in the almost-closed barn doors and stand in the light of the country moon and stars. Is it possible that this is a different moon than the one I see in the suburbs? It's never this bright where I am. Here, it almost seems like the sun. I stroll over to the fence and look out at this man's land. Everything looks so beautiful at night, even this farm. I sigh, rubbing my hands up and down my forearms to warm up from the slight chill in the air. The sounds of crickets and dogs howling echo throughout the night air. "It's pretty nice, ain't it?" I'm not shocked or surprised by the intrusion anymore. I just shake my head and laugh to myself. I know that voice. "We really have to stop meeting this way. It feels like some cheesy suspense movie." I feel Mutt's arm wrap around my shoulder before I can turn around. He tilts his head slightly, resting his cheek on my head. "I couldn't sleep," we admit at the exact same time. We look at each other the second we finish, giggling like idiots. "I woke up before you," I tell him. He raises his eyebrows. "You think I didn't know that when I woke up and you weren't there?" he asks sarcastically. I roll my eyes slightly, brushing him off. "Just pointing out the obvious…" He chuckles and pulls me in a little more when he notices how cold I am.

We spend the next few minutes just enjoying the night and the slight breeze in the air. Nightime is always the most fun to be outside during. "Char," Mutt begins, breaking the silence. "What are we gonna do when we get back, y'know?" Squinting my eyes in confusion, I wonder what he means. Nothing has to change. "What do you mean 'what are we gonna do'?" He breaks his gaze and looks away from me. "I mean, are we just gonna go back to our lives without each other just 'cause we don't have somethin' like this to make us play nice with each other?" His voice is full of concern and choked back desperation. I'm shocked he could even suggest that after all we've been through together. After the crown, how can he even think I want him out of my life? "No, never!" I exclaim. "You're one of my best friends. Why would you think that?" He shrugs unconvincingly, trying to stray away from the topic.

"Y'know, I'm really glad you said that, Char. It means a lot to me." I laugh a little, but it's so soft that it's lost on him. We're just looking at each other, coming down from our serious conversation. I feel like I should make a move to look away, but I can't. I'm caught in a trance, staring into his brown eyes. He's staring back into my blue ones with a look on his face that I'm sure I have on mine. Shouldn't one of us be turning away now? Shouldn't one of us abruptly end this moment and make sure it doesn't get past this? All I know is, that person won't be me.

Much to my shame, I don't look away when I see Mutt's face getting closer and closer to mine. I don't stop him, or myself for that matter. In the blink of an eye, he's kissing me. It's soft, hesitant, and barely there, but's it's still happening. I don't know what to do, what to think. All I can do is freeze and scramble for something to do in my mind. Should I kiss him back? Should I shove him off of me? Finally, my up-tight attitude about it melts away. _'Eh, what the heck,' _I think casually. Nothing can be undone at this point, so I may as well enjoy it. I wrap my arms around his neck and respond to his kiss. He backs away slightly, surprised by my reaction, but maintaining contact. I feel his arms slide around my waist and he pulls me closer. I didn't think it was possible, but I'm actually enjoying this.

As quick as it started, it ends. Now Mutt's face is further apart from mine. He's staring at me, mouth agape. "I was expectin' a slap," he admits. I giggle at his surprised expression. "I'm not a total stick in the mud," I insist. "I'm full of surprises." Mutt lets out a low whistle, smoothing back his hair. "Yep. You sure are, dolly." We both laugh, a little nervously. Neither of us are the most romantic people in the world. I hate to admit that we might both be so embarrassed later that we ignore this ever happened. I really hope it doesn't happen that way. "So, um… should we go back to the barn before they notice we left?" Mutt suggests. I nod quickly on my way there, bumping into his side as I do. Now that he can't see my face, I can finally let the ear-to-ear smile appear. _'Tonight is a good night...'_

* * *

When I went to bed last night, I had to fake being asleep in order to avoid any sort of awkwardness with Mutt. He stayed up and awake, completely unabashed. I swear I could feel his eyes on me at some point during the night, maybe more than once. It embarrassed me to no end, and I don't even know why. I'm not one to get embarrassed easily, and why should I be? _He_ was the one who kissed _me_, not the other way around. So, then why do I feel like a silly little girl who has her first crush? Why are my cheeks flushed pink? _'You sound like an idiot, Char,'_ I mentally berate myself. Last night may have been enjoyable, but I'm sure Mutt just did it for fun… right? Besides, Dad would chop Mutt's you-know-what off if he knew what happened last night.

Now I can see the sun streaming in through the shuttered windows the barn. I'm still sleep deprived and I'm absolutely not looking forward to getting up out of my rather comfortable hay bed, despite to discomfort in my lower back from the hard ground. As the sunlight burns my eyes, I squeeze them shut tightly and groan, burying my head back into the straw. I'm not a happy-peppy morning person who grins and sings over her bowl of cereal in the morning. It takes Dad nearly fifteen minutes to get me up for school every day because he astutely doesn't trust me to get up by myself. Just another thing for Mom to look forward to…

I feel Dad rub my back and gently shake my shoulder, which is my usual morning wake up call. "Char, Char, get up. It's time to go." I groan and roll back over on my side, just delaying the inevitable. "Five more minutes…" I mumble. I hear Dad's distinctive chuckle, making me picture his lopsided grin plastered on his face. He carefully puts his hands on my shoulders and brings me up into a sitting position. My bleary eyes struggle to adjust to the sudden change in lighting. As soon as I open my eyes, I can just tell that today won't be a good day for me; I'm moody when I'm tired and right now, I'm freaking exhausted. So much help sleeping here did!

"Fine," I grumble, rubbing my eyes with my closed fists like a five year old. "I'm up. Happy?" Dad pauses, pretending to consider it. "Yes, very. Now let's get going." I grab his hand and force myself up, clumsy from lack of sleep. "How is Sleeping Beauty doing this lovely morning?" I hear Sallah ask from the other side of the barn. I spot him and immediately give him the best glare I can manage to muster. "Careful, Sallah," Dad begins. "She's giving you the death glare. I only get that during 'that time of the month'." I gasp, probably turning a horrible shade of pink out of embarrassment. "Dad! I resent that!" He laughs, nodding to placate me. "I'm sure you do, sweetheart, but it's true." Huffing impatiently, I get up and brush the hay off the clothes I've been wearing for days. "Do we have to say goodbye to what's-his-name first?" Mom asks. Even I forgot what he asked us to call him by now. Dad shakes his head. "I'm sure he'll be happy to be rid of the people sleeping in his barn. After all, I think these horses need some room…" One of the horses sighs like it's responding to Dad, who takes this as a signal to leave. I stumble after Dad and the others, still not quite awake. Hopefully, I won't be a total bumbling, half-asleep idiot today.

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**A/N: I bet I totally disappointed a lot of romance lovers, huh? *Dodges rotten tomatoes* Sorry, sorry! I'm about as romantic as a tree stump and have never had a huge crush on anyone (besides random celebrities), let alone kissed someone. I try to make romance stories romantic, but I'm kinda lost in that department. Otherwise, how do you think their little 'relationship' will turn out? Tell me in the review section, or even shoot me a PM if you wanna talk about the story or ask me any questions. Oh, and I have some news...**

**I'M A BETA READER NOW!**

**Okay, maybe it's not big news for many people, but it is for me! I'm waiting for the requests to roll in... (I am totally over confident, aren't I?)**


	18. Chapter 18

**A/N: Thank you to YoungestSolo for the review which sparked an idea in my head! And, like always, I want to thank people like SmarahSmarshmellow (very creative name, by the way) who favorited, followed, or reviewed. It makes me HAPPY! Read on, peoples of the internet!**

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Is it possible to go back to the way things used to be after kissing someone? Am I doomed to suffer for my impulsive, indecorous decision? It seems that way, doesn't it? Mutt and I have said about two words to each other since last night. It's as if we have to act differently around the other just because we kissed. It's all stupid, if you ask me. Why should anything be different? A kiss is nothing life-changing, and besides, take away the kiss and what do you have; a strong friendship. Nothing needs to change… So why am I so self-conscious around him now? Why do I feel flustered when I accidentally brush up against him? I'm trying to banish these facetious thoughts. This isn't me. This isn't Charlotte Desmona Jones. I'm independent and strong. I don't need a 'boyfriend' or anything like that. I've been perfectly fine for sixteen years without one and I don't feel the need to get one now.

I'm sticking close to Dad for the walk this time. I've kept my distance since we reunited with Mom. I just want to give them time alone, but this time, I'm not being so considerate. I'm at his hip, like I always am. Or, always was, I guess I should say now. Now that he has Mom back, I won't be his little shadow anymore. I'll miss having that special bond with him, but in a way, I'll always have some sort of special connection with him that I won't have with anyone else. You don't just spend sixteen years almost exclusively with one person and expect yourself not to bond with them. It's just inevitable.

"Do we even know where we're going?" Shorty asks from behind us. Dad simply turns his head around, smiles at him, and asks, "Short-stuff, have I ever steered you wrong?" Shorty pretends to think about it for a little while. "Well, there was that one time in Pankot Palace…" Dad shakes his head. "Never mind. Forget I asked." Mom nudges him with her shoulder and spills out some of her own grudges against him. "And there was that time in Cairo. Oh, and that time in Chicago when we started dating. And don't forget-" Dad throws his hands up in the air. "I get it, I get it! I'm completely unreliable and a total jerk. But," Dad puts his hand on my shoulder. "I'm a completely unreliable, total jerk who's pretty damn good at parenting, if I do say so myself." That's an indisputable fact. "I guess you at least have _one_ good trait…" I tease him. Dad rolls his eyes and wraps an arm around my waist while keeping the other wrapped around Mom's. You know, maybe this walk won't be so uncomfortable after all.

* * *

Were we expecting to find a gas station in the middle of Nowhere-Ville? No, we weren't. Were we disappointed? Nope! Finally, some directions! Dad is inside with Mom, Shorty, Sallah, Ox, and Mutt. He's the one asking the man at the desk for directions, and the rest are doing god-knows-what. Then there's me; I'm just outside, swaying in the light breeze and goofing off like the wonderfully irresponsible person I am. I've finally noticed something; winter is about over. When I met Mutt, I remember it was a bitterly cold day, the type of day that I loathe. Summer is my favorite season, especially summer nights. But I love Cairo for one reason; dry heat. Oh, how I wish Dad had never moved to America with me after the 'Mom incident'. Sure, it probably wouldn't be the best idea for someone like him to raise a girl in Egypt, but it'd sure as heck be an adventure!

"Charlotte…" I perk my head up, obfuscated by what I think I heard. I swear, I heard my name being called. Not just that, but it's my full first name, not 'Char'. Pausing, I listen more intensely, waiting for it to come again. "Charlotte…" Where is it coming from? I start walking slowly and cautiously towards the back of the building, near the small copse close to the forest, my heart pounding. I'm short of breath when I finally turn the corner. I'm too paranoid. All the worst case scenarios pop into my head as soon as I hear so much as a whisper that seems out of place to me.

Much to my relief, the back of the building is clear. I release a breath. "That was close," I mumble to myself. "Not quite," a voice answers back. I don't even breathe. I don't get the opportunity to turn around, either. As soon as I start to, something hits me over my head; _hard_. The pain is sharp, and then dulls into intense throbbing in a few seconds. The next thing I know, my world is going black as my face meets the ground.

* * *

"She's been out for too long."

The voice I hear is the first thing I process, along with a hammering pain in my forehead. What happened to me? How long have I been out? On instinct, I keep my eyes shut.

"She's probably just being difficult. You know how those Joneses can be."

My breath catches in my throat. My thoughts are going a hundred miles an hour. I know I'm in trouble, but that's about the only thing I know. How I got where I am, I don't know. I don't even know where I am!

"I say we just leave her here for a little while longer then check on her later. She's bound to wake up some time." The voice sounds harsh and low. A middle aged man, maybe? The other man sounded younger and more eager. _'Because kidnapping a teenage girl is totally something to be eager about…' _I think sarcastically. I'm guessing he's younger, but that's all I can do at this point; just guess. I don't know anything besides the fact that I'm definitely not anywhere near Dad right now, and that scares me.

And Mutt… What about him? Is he okay? I only hope that he's not in the same position as I am. I probably shouldn't have overthought all of this, because now it's catching up with my recently injured head. The pounding feeling resumes, and it takes all of my willpower not to moan in pain while I feel as if someone is hitting my head with a hammer. What hit me? Whatever it was, it did the trick. I can still feel the after-effect of it. The only time I've been in more pain was when I was wearing the crown. Even getting shot didn't feel this bad.

"Oww…" I say in a pained whisper. As soon as it leaves my mouth, I freeze. _'Bad decision, Char, bad decision!' _Oh no, they probably know I'm awake now. I'm almost positive that was just loud enough to be heard by the people in the room with me. "She's awake!" Well, it looks like I was right… I jump when a hand grabs my shoulder roughly and pulls me up into a sitting position, throwing my back against a hard, cold wall. I wince when I feel what it does to my sore head. "Yeah, I bet it hurts!" the cruel voice spits at me. "You were out like a light, little girl. That was only temporary, though. Soon enough, it'll be permanent." I snap my eyes open. I won't give this man the satisfaction of seeing me afraid. As soon as my vision stops spinning, I see a middle aged man, just like I thought. His hair is gray and thinning. Wrinkles cover his face, though none of them are laugh-lines, I notice. The skull and crossbones on his uniform tell me what I suspected all along; this is a familiar enemy.

I know I've been scared before, but now, I'm really _scared_, if that makes sense. Now, I'm not with Dad or Mutt or Sallah or even Mom. I'm alone, here, in a strange room with strange men, and no one I care about knows where I am. In other words, I'm totally and completely screwed. I hope my eyes don't reflect that. Maybe I can trick this man into thinking I don't fear him. I'm a complete nervous wreck on the inside, but I want to put on a show. That's probably saved Dad's butt more times than he can count. "Oh, really?" I reply bitingly. The man raises his eyebrow, seemingly impressed. "Well, you are a cheeky one, aren't you? Just like that father of yours, no doubt. Your wit won't save you now, child." Child? How dare he call me _child_? "I wouldn't bet on that. You know us Joneses. We're… unpredictable." He smiles. It's not a warm or even a sarcastic smile. The only word to describe it is evil. "Try as you might to dig yourself out of this hole, sweetheart, you're already six feet under. There's nowhere to go-" "But up," I interject. Call me crazy, but I'm enjoying abusing this man with my sharp wit. I silently thank Dad for having wit for me to inherit.

The man grips my chin with his hand and forces me to look him in the eyes. They're dark gray and unforgiving, piercing into my bright blue ones. I struggle in his grip, but he keeps his fingers firmly on my chin. "Don't even bother resisting, sweetheart. Where is there to run?" I feel defeated. He's right. I have no choices. "Let. Me. Go." The man chuckles and lets go of my chin, patting my arm in pretend sympathy. I see his other hand slowly reach into his belt. My eyes travel down to his hand in curiosity. It's too dark and obscured to see what he's reaching for. Suddenly, I feel him hold a cold blade against my throat so tightly that I can feel an indent beginning to form on my neck.

"Lay down," he orders me. I stay in my spot, frozen in shock and fear. His face transforms into a look of absolute anger. He uses his other hand to grip my arm and forces me to the floor on my back. Swinging his leg over my body, he sits on my stomach, keeping the blade firmly on my throat. I can feel my insides flip over. I know something's coming that's not right. Immediately, I start to squirm around under him, thrashing around with all the might in my comparatively smaller body. I can't escape his hold on me, but I can delay whatever is coming to me for as long as possible. So, I thrash and thrash, trying to get my arms out from under me. It's an uncomfortable position, but he doesn't care about my comfort.

I feel him move the knife from my throat down to my blouse, using the tip of the blade to mess with the buttons. I keep squirming, even more afraid than I was before. I have a faint idea of what might happen to me. "Get off of me!" I scream at him, using the hand I finally got free to start pushing on his chest. It seems to have no effect on him. He's too strong. Just as I feel the knife beginning to travel down my top and near my pants, muffled shouting from the next room causes it to pause before it reaches my waistline. The man sighs heavily and drops the knife, getting off of me. "You got lucky, little girl," he hisses. Finally, he leaves the room, leaving me shaking uncontrollably on the floor.

He's gone, but still, I lay here, unmoving except for the constant tremors throughout my aching body. Gathering up what little courage I have left, I plant my hands firmly on the cool concrete and lift up my body, being careful of my sore head. I feel like a hundred pounds weighs on my chest, despite nothing being on me anymore. I groan when I plant myself against the wall. Why does everything hurt now? I bring my knees up to my chest and hide my face, trying to find some way of comfort. Someone better come find me soon, because I don't know how much longer I have left here.

* * *

**Indy POV**

It's been hours, and no one can tell me where Char is. It's like she disappeared off the face of the earth. I swear, she was in the back of the gas station, now she's gone. I know Char, and I know she would never walk off like this without telling me. She's too responsible and conscious of my concerns to just run off, and logically, she has no reason to. Marion has tried to calm me down, but I can't be bothered to listen. My father's intuition tells me that she's in immediate danger. I can't explain this outside the fact that I always know when my daughter is in trouble. Sixteen years as a single parent will do this to a person.

"Someone took her," I blurt out. No one pays any attention to my statement. Instead, they're still searching around the woods near where we last saw Char. I feel like grabbing them all and screaming that they need to listen to me and that Char could be dead soon. I'm blowing up in a bubbling pool of rage on the inside. On the outside, I'm just biting my lip and glaring at everyone.

Mutt suddenly stops where he's at and walks over to me. "Umm, sir?" he begins hesitantly. "I think I know a reason why she might have left…" I narrow my eyes and examine Mutt critically. He looks painfully embarrassed and saddened. The pity I guess I'm supposed to feel isn't there. I just want to know where my daughter is. "What do you mean?" I ask harshly. Mutt looks me straight in the eyes, though he looks like it's paining him. "Char and I… Well, we… uh… We k-kissed last night while everyone was asleep, and um…" I stop him immediately. "You WHAT?!" He _kissed _my daughter? I've refused to believe that Char would ever get a boyfriend or kiss anyone. She's still five years old in my mind. I guess I should have addressed that at some point, but I was never great at anything girl related and instead acted like I was raising a son. My vision turns red as I look at Mutt; my daughter's friend. Or should I say boyfriend? "Thank you for telling me that," I say through clenched teeth. "But I don't think she would have run off because of that." Char might have been embarrassed, and knowing her she was probably mortified, but she's not one to do things like that. Mutt just told me that for nothing. I wish I was still in the dark about it, honestly.

"I wanna make this thing right again," he quickly explains. "I'm gonna help you find her." He's determined and not at all fearful. All he's thinking about is Char. I'm still not jumping for joy over my daughter getting what I _hope_ was her first kiss, but I have to say, at least it was with someone I trust like Mutt and not some random punk she meets afterschool. Of course, my preference would be NO boyfriend, but I can't really do anything about that. At least Mutt cares for Char.

"We need to find her, and I mean soon," I declare. Mutt nods, looking back at our friends once more. "Should we tell these guys? I mean, we don't want 'em worrying and all…" I shrug, walking forward to Marion, the only person I know will hear me out right now. She groans, running her hand through her hair. "What is it, Indy? I'm a little panicked, as you can tell." Gently, as to not aggravate her further, I place my hand on her shoulder and lean in closely. "Char didn't just run off. Someone took her, probably someone near here. Mutt and I will find her. Just get out of here. Go to my dad's. Get as far away as possible before they decide to take you too." Marion opens her mouth to protest, but I cut her off. I know she's going to demur to being left out of finding her daughter, but I'm not risking her life; not again.

"No, it's too dangerous. The last thing I need is to lose both of you. It'll be safer if just Mutt and I go." I pause, watching her face to determine her reaction. For good measure, I add in a cocky, "Trust me," just like I said to her sixteen years ago in her tavern in Nepal, back when she vowed to hate me. Now, here we are, all these years later, married with a teenage daughter. Hopefully, she'll find it in her to go out on a limb and trust me once again. She sighs heavily, shaking her head as if to clear her thoughts. Finally, she meets my eyes again. "Just be careful, Indy. Bring her back." I smile sadly at her. I can't bring myself to give a full smile with so much weighing heavily on my mind. "Don't worry. I'll find her if it's the last thing I do."

* * *

**Char's POV**

I've been slipping in and out of sleep since I arrived here, wherever 'here' is. My captors have not made another appearance. At least I don't have to fight another person off. I'm weak and exhausted. I think I have a concussion from being hit over the head. That would explain why I'm so tired and dizzy. How long has it been anyway? I'd bet my naps are about ten minutes each and I've had countless ones, so that doesn't help me. I wish there was a clock or something in this dank little room. They haven't even handcuffed me or blindfolded me or anything. From what I've learned from Dad and endless hours of reading crime novels, that's bad. It means they don't care what I see.

I rub my eyes in an attempt to make my vision brighten. I feel like someone opened a control room in my brain and dimmed the lights. Everything is darker ever so slightly. The one thing I _can_ see right now? The door to the room opening and a dark figure walking inside. I automatically sit up a little but straighter, like a subconscious way to tell them that they don't scare me. Even though I can't see properly in this dark room, I just know that it's the man from before. I just know it.

"What do you want?" I ask harshly. His sinister laugh echoes through the dungeon-room as I can see him shake his head to himself. "You're a very funny girl, you know that?" he asks. I scoff. "Well, if being 'funny' were that easy, you'd be a damn comedian," I shoot back sarcastically. It just results in more wanton laughter. "My, my, my… I've never seen someone quite as cheeky as you, m'dear. It's just dreadful that it must end this way, it really is…" I involuntarily gulp, not liking the sound of the word 'end'. I say nothing, waiting for him to elucidate me on what he means. He takes one step forward, letting me see him better. When I finally take a good look at him, I stop breathing; he's carrying a gun. So this is how it will end. He raises it, keeping it square on my forehead like a true professional. I can't even comprehend what's about to happen, other than me wishing it to be painless. He smirks at the fear in my eyes.

"Goodbye, Miss Charlotte Jones."

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**A/N: NOOOOOOOOOOOOOO! Did I just kill off the best character I have ever made?! Like always, post reviews and feel free to PM me for anything, any questions, or just 'cuz. Really, I don't bite. And remember I'm a beta reader now! Feel free to hit me up to be your beta reader!**


	19. Chapter 19

**A/N: I'm near the end, I can feel it! I think I can squeeze about 2 or 3 more chapters out, maybe even only 1. I don't know, but we'll find out! Thank you to Izusa93 and JackFrostlvr13 for the follows and favorites! And a HUGE thanks to The Starkiller for all the lovely reviews! It's great to see that there are passionate people like you in the Indiana Jones fan-base and reading through your reviews made my day! Imagine my surprise when I checked my email and saw 13 reviews for one of my least-often reviewed stories. Feedback is the most important thing to an author!**

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My heart beat is pounding in my ears. I can feel my chest heave and the blood rushing to my head. My feet are shaking from my adrenaline pumping through my veins. I want to close my eyes, but they're wide open and won't shut. I'm forced to look at the man about to kill me because of some morbid curiosity turning in me. Everything seems to be going in slow motion, even the smirk appearing in the face of my soon-to-be-executer. He's making a 'tsk' sound, shaking his head slowly. "It _really _is a shame, Charlotte. It's always a shame to waste a beautiful woman like this." His eyes are mocking me as I wait to be killed. Gunshots ring out and I jump, preparing myself to feel searing pain as the bullet rips through my brain, killing me instantly. Yet, I feel no pain. It's like when I fell off that cliff with Dad; I don't feel dead, but I know I should be. My captor jerks forward, his eyes rolling into the back of his head. I gasp when he falls to the floor onto his face, dead with a bloody wound on his back. I rip my eyes away from his body to the figure standing in the doorway holding a gun. He slowly approaches me. I don't want a repeat of what the now-dead man was trying to do, so I try to back away from him and just push myself further against the cold, stone wall.

A young man with blonde hair and blue eyes kneels in front of me. His expression is guarded and hard to read, not kind but not harsh. It's like he's made of stone. He reaches out and grabs my arm, pulling me along with him without a word. My vision spins when I stand on my wobbly legs. "Ow…" I whisper weakly. He glances in my direction, but ignores me otherwise, just making me follow him out the door. "Where are you taking me?" I ask, finding my strength somehow. He looks back at me, his young face remaining serious. "You'll find out soon enough."

I have no choice but to follow him; his grip on my arm is tight, leaving no room for arguments or escape attempts. Each corridor that passes is the same as the last; bleak, dark and uninviting. I wonder where I am. Probably not far from where I was before. For some reason, I feel like he won't hurt me. He isn't threatening. Maybe it's stupid of me, but I'm not afraid. At this point, I'm embracing whatever's coming for me. He might hurt me, he might not. Whatever he does, I'm ready.

* * *

**Indy POV**

The sound of a gunshot rings out, hitting my ears with urgency. I know very well that Char could be on the receiving end of that shot. It makes my heart race. I start to run in the direction of the shot, yelling at Mutt to follow me. He bolts with me, urgency in his step. All I can see is forest in front of my eyes. The gunshot sounded muffled, like it was inside some sort of building. I doubt whoever took her dragged her here in the middle of the woods. They probably took her to some type of shelter. It makes more sense. For now, I'm searching for some type of housing that I think she might be held in as I run through the woods.

"Indy!" Mutt yells at me from behind. I spin around on my heels at the sound of my nickname coming from my daughter's _boyfriend's_ mouth. My life is pretty messed up, huh? "What?" I shoot back with the adrenaline still pumping through my veins. Wordlessly, Mutt points to his right. I follow his gaze to find a small white building covered by leaves and twigs, nearly completely camoflauged. A small, reluctant smile appears on my face. We've finally found it.

* * *

**Char POV**

We're finally out of the miserable little building, the strange boy still dragging me by my wrist. A small clearing or a field comes into view, and the boy lets go of my wrist. For a split second, I realize my chance; I could run right now. I'm quick and agile. He'd have a hard time catching me. Honestly, though? I'm done with running away. I'll just take my chances.

"Is there a reason why you brought me here?" I ask clearly. He remains stoic and unreadable, barely meeting my eyes. He ignores my question and makes a whistling noise off into the distance. When more people start to emerge from the surrounding fields, I realize that it was a cue. All of the people around us are male and deadly serious like the boy who brought me here. The boy next to me backs up until he and his little friends are forming a ring around me. It creeps me out. Is this some sort of cult? It sure feels like it.

Slowly, they all get down on their knees and bow their heads. They're kneeling for _me_, like I'm some sort of princess. It makes me distinctly uncomfortable. I thought they were Nazis, but their bowing to me? What in the world is happening?! "Why are you doing this?" I ask loudly, hoping one of them will answer me. A boy who looks no older than fourteen looks up into my eyes, oddly enough respectfully. "We are honoring you, my lady. You are the last ancestor of Queen Mary, and the true heir to the throne." I narrow my eyes at him. So, this is what my heritage has come to, a bunch of teenage boys bowing to me in a field after I've just been kidnapped. I didn't ask for any of this! This is ridiculous! The look on my face must be fierce, because the boy looks down at his feet with an expression of fear on his face.

"And what did you bring me here for?" I ask through gritted teeth, directing my question at the brave boy. He looks back up at me, stuttering his words. I sigh. My patience is wearing thin, and I have no time for this. "Answer me!" I demand. He immediately straightens up. I feel like an army general, ordering these poor boys around. "You left your crown in Queen Mary's castle, my lady. We wanted to return it to you for your rise to power cannot occur without it." My breath catches in my throat at my stupidity. I left the crown in the castle, for anyone to take. It was a dangerous mistake on my part, a stupid error. The rest of the boy's sentence registers in my mind after I finish hating myself. "What do you mean my 'rise to power'?" I ask, my tone still cold. The boy shrinks under my gaze. "You are the true heir to the throne, my lady. The crown will give you the power to take over as the rightful ruler of Great Britain." Oh, this is just great. I'm surrounded by a bunch of crazy teenage boys who want me to dominate the world.

"Where is the crown?" I demand to know. Another boy steps forward, carrying a wooden box. He kneels before me, holding the box out, his eyes downcast. I step forward and flip the lid of the box open. Sure enough, I see my reflection in a beautiful ruby planted right in the middle of the crown. Flipping the lid shut, I take the chest away from the boy and bring it to my chest. "I'm sorry to disappoint you boys, but world domination isn't on my list of top priorities right now. I'll leave the throne in the capable hands of George VI **(A/N: Was he on the throne during World War II? I'm not sure.)**. I think I'm more concerned with getting into college than getting into the royal family." As I predicted, they all look less than thrilled by my statement. At first, I prepare myself to be kidnapped then shipped off to England. The more I think about it the more I realize that they couldn't do that to me. To them, I'm some sort of royalty. Whatever I say goes, especially if I'm in control of this crown. Wait a minute; especially when _I_ _have_ _the_ _crown_...

I take the crown out of the box and put it on my head. I know I promised myself never again to wield this object, but the situation certainly calls for it. "All of you will accept my decision to not gain control of the throne. You will not try to track me down for this purpose again. Are we understood?" A collective nod comes from all the glassy-eyes boys. I smile. "Very well, then." I waste no time in taking off the crown. Once my head is bare, I examine the crown. It's beautiful, I'll say that much, but I have a bad feeling about it. Should I destroy it, or should I give it to Mr. Brody? "She has the crown!" I hear one of the boys shout. I look up to see them all glaring at me and eyeing the crown. I gulp. I didn't know that they would be so angry about the fact that a person who they now accept shouldn't be the heir is in possession of the crown. However, there's no way I'm giving it back to them. It is technically _mine_, after all.

They exchange glances and start walking towards me slowly. Uh oh. I think I know how this is gonna end. I'm not about to let that happen. I waste no time clutching the crown tightly and running for my life in the opposite direction. "Get her!" one of them yells behind me. I smile to myself as I sprint away from them. I'm a natural born runner. I don't enjoy it, but I've found that it's an unwanted skill of mine. Unless one of them is also a natural born runner, I doubt they'll catch up with me.

The tall grass of the field scratches at my ankles uncomfortably, forming some red lines. I push myself forward anyway. It's not like I'm trying to get a good grade in gym class during our mile run! I'm running away from a group of insane boys who now believe that I have an artifact that shouldn't be mine. Who do they think should have it, King George VI? It is mine, though. As the last living and most direct relative of Queen Mary herself, it's my right to own this crown and whether or not I decide to destroy it or give it to Mr. Brody is my decision and nobody else's! Wow, I sound a lot like Dad when he's arguing with Grandfather. Like father like daughter, I guess. Speaking of Dad, where the heck is he? I thought he'd be swooping in and saving my butt right now. Of course, I don't need saving from anybody. I can save myself, but it's just weird for him not to know where I am at every second. He makes it his job to know that much and he's a professional at it.

A loud *pop* sounds off, making me jump. Not even a millisecond after I hear the sound, a bullet whizzes past me just missing my arm. Even though I'm still running, my mouth drops open and my eyes widen. I wasn't scared before, but now I am. "Oh crap, oh crap, oh crap…" I mutter, now running in a zigzag pattern. I heard before that when you run in a zigzag pattern, chasing your or shooting you becomes harder. It's worth a shot, right? Two more popping sounds hit my eardrums. My heart's pounding harder than ever before. Never underestimate how nerve-wracking being chased it. It's probably the most terrifying thing you'd ever experience. You're on the threshold between freedom and capture, even potential death. That's what makes it worse than actually _being_ captured. You have no hope then, and a part of you accepts that. Now, I'm just running for my life.

* * *

**Indy POV**

Nothing. We searched the damn building and the only thing we come up with is the dead body of a man. There's no sign of Char, but I'm assuming she's been here. The body is freshly dead and I'm gonna bet Char was involved in some way or another. We're talking about _Char_ after all. When there's something suspicious nearby, she's usually a part of it.

"I've got no idea where to go from here, man," Mutt laments. "I dunno where she coulda gone." He sounds as terrified as I feel. When Char's not in my line of sight, I'm a nervous wreck. It comes with the territory of parenthood. "We'll just have to scout around for her. Maybe there's a field nearby. It'd be the perfect place for someone to take her." He nods and we set out into the forest again, cloaked by an uncomfortable silence hanging in the air. What am I supposed to say to the boy who I just recently found out kissed my daughter? I'm not at all happy about that fact, even now after he volunteered to help find her. He's still going to be a pain in my butt for who knows how long, depending on how Char feels about him and this whole thing. Hopefully, she'll wait a few years before putting me through this, but I know that's not realistic. She's almost seventeen, practically a grown woman. If I keep too tight of a leash on her, she'll rebel. I have to let this happen if she wants it to happen, no matter how strongly I object to it. I've never had to deal with boyfriends before because Char has never had any. When I was her age, I'd already had many girlfriends. Thank God she's not like me in that way.

"Are you two dating or something?" I ask Mutt bluntly. I want to know before I assume I'll have to give him the 'treat-my-daughter-well-or-else' speech when we get back home. Mutt looks shocked and alarmed, like I'll have his head on the spot. If he doesn't play his cards right… that might just happen. "N-No, we're not… I mean, I did kiss her, but… I-I don't know if she's interested in all that, but she did kiss back, but that doesn't mean that _I_-" I raise my hand, silencing him. I think I've heard enough. "So _you_ kissed her and she kissed back, but you're not sure whether or not she's interested in you like that." He nods, still flustered from my accusation. I think I'm liking this situation just a little bit better. I still might not have to share my daughter yet. "Okay, let's get moving," I tell him, taking charge of the situation once again. "We need to cover all the ground if we want to find Char."

Mutt follows me as I move through the forest. I really hope Char didn't do anything stupid. She's so stubborn sometimes that I swear I'm going to have to bail her out of jail one day. I wonder what she did now…

* * *

**Char POV**

"Stop!" I hear the scream behind me. The screams have been fading and then coming back for quite a while now. I don't know whether or not I'm any closer to escaping them. My legs burn and feel stiff. My face is hot and sweat is dropping down my forehead. My lungs feel like they're tying a hundred times harder just to keep me alive. This can't go on forever, but so help me, I will _not_ give up this crown. I have come _too_ far and risked _too_ much to just give up and let a lot of lunatics grab it from me. I'm keeping it and deciding what to do with it when I get home.

Figures moving in the distance catch my eye through my adrenaline induced fog, and I begin running towards them. They're not the boys following me, I know that much. They would have killed me by now if they had found a way to get ahead of me. Maybe it's Dad or Mutt or someone else. At this point, I really don't care that Mutt kissed me and I'm cripplingly embarrassed in front of him. I just want him to come to my rescue.

The figures come into view and I realize that they're Dad and Mutt. I was right! Despite the amount of noise I'm sure I'm making, I don't think they notice me sprinting towards them. My ankles and legs still ache and I can still feel my chest heave, but I run even faster to catch up with them. Now, my head is throbbing again, but I'm too hyped up on what I think is adrenaline to care.

When I get close enough, I reach my hand out and grip the smooth leather of Dad's trusty jacket and grab on for dear life, using the other hand to grip onto Mutt's less lived-in leather jacket. Without giving them any reaction time, I start running forward, dragging both of them with me. At first, I'm doing all the work while the just stand in shock, letting me drag them both. Well, at least I learned that I'm stronger than I once thought. Within a few second, though, they both just go with it and run with me, no questions asked.

We're running in the direction that I think the gas station is. I can't quite remember after the knock on my head I got, but this is my best guess. Despite the fact that getting to Dad and Mutt slowed me down a bit, I think I've pretty much lost the boys chasing me. I'm still running, but my guard is lowered a little bit. I'm sure I can get away now. All I need to do is get to the gas station and I'm home free! They can't go vigilante on me with witnesses in broad daylight. Besides, I'm sure we packed more weapons than they did. My sense of security is returning.

The pounding in my head is getting worse. It's just a headache from my injury. I'm not sure how serious it is, but it won't get in my way of safety. It's not the end of the world, I'll be fine. But… why can't I see two feet in front of me anymore…? And… why is everything… fuzzy? I can feel my knees buckle, and my world goes black.

Again.

* * *

**A/N: Took me a long time to write because I sleep a lot during summer. When I'm not sleeping or eating, I try to get out of the house as much as possible. It's hard to find writing time no matter how much I want to write. Believe me, I do. I love it! It's just hard to find time sometimes! As always, please REVIEW, FOLLOW, and FAVORITE! I love you all (Eh, I'm in a good mood)!**


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